Humble Shopkeeper
by Sarshi
Summary: Ichigo doesn't know in how much trouble he is, but Kisuke does, and attempts to rescue him. Which leads to smashing into a tangled web of plotting and manipulations. Beware the slow start, slashy lemons, mad characters and convoluted mind of the author.
1. Bloody Blatant Blackmail

**Disclaimer: **Bleach & everything connected to it belongs to Tite Kubo. I'm just messing around for no profit.

**Author's Note:** Due to the author's horrified realization of how badly this needed editing, this chapter was given an nth look-over on the 29th of March, 2010 and an nth plus 1 look-over on the 15th of April 2011... And might go through another edit at a later time, should I get horrified again. I've grown quite fond of this story in time. It was initially supposed to be almost PWP, but, lo and behold! It is so impossibly complicated now that I have to work hard to balance all the plot points. In other words, it's gotten quite fun.

If you're interested in other works I do, aside from the fan fiction, or in getting free requests on random Fridays, you can find me on deviantArt. The link is on my profile.

**Chapter 1: Bloody Blatant Blackmail**

Urahara looked at Ichigo from behind his fan. If there ever was a moment to put to practice a plan that should never have been drafted in the first place, a plan which was below him, unworthy of him, which he loathed and despised even as he loved it... If there was a time to do the thing he had carefully drafted and agonized over ever since he had realized it could be done... That time had arrived. Urahara had arranged for everybody at the shop to inconspicuously go away for awhile, which would give him just the right context to set some things right. Or if not right, then better than they would otherwise be. At least, he hoped so, because otherwise he would be no better than a damned perverted bastard who had no right to live, never mind consider himself a decent human being.

Licking dry lips, he said, "Kurosaki-san, please stay behind."

Ichigo turned towards him, oblivious of the subtext that should have been screaming at him from underneath that sentence. There was nothing in his countenance to reflect the fact that this was going to be, one way or another, a life-altering moment for him. He looked impossibly young, impossibly innocent, unbelievably trusting. Urahara felt a pang of wrongness, but pushed it away. It had to be done. It _had_ to be done. If he told himself that enough times, he would maybe come to believe it.

"Huh?" Ichigo said. His friends, equally oblivious, looked back at Urahara with some curiosity and no hints of suspicion.

"There's some things we need to discuss," the shopkeeper said in what felt like too normal a voice for the occasion.

"Ok. Whatever." He wasn't pleased to stay. Maybe he had something to do this afternoon. Maybe he had plans, or maybe he wanted to rest. Urahara wouldn't let him.

They remained in the underground training area until the others' reiatsu started fading away. Urahara made a gesture asking Ichigo to be patient, and the young man, the trusting, innocent young man, did so. The shopkeeper would have preferred to wrestle him to stay. It would have felt more appropriate. And when there was no trace left of Rukia or Ishida, no hint of Orihime left, Urahara folded his fan and put it away. He smiled at Ichigo, who had no way of knowing that behind the same old smile there was cold sweat and betrayal.

Urahara closed the distance between them, noticing that his status as 'trusted' would not allow Ichigo to pull away automatically. Too bad. Also expected.

Then, with a gesture that appeared to be commonplaceness itself, the shopkeeper's lips closed down on the boy's own.

* * *

It was amazing how fast your opinion of a man could change when his lips were on your own, Ichigo thought.

Before? Urahara was that strange mentor guy with very questionable methods and who is supposedly perverted. Now, Urahara was... Well, he was the strange mentor guy with very questionable methods and a very real body with very real lips who was very really actually obviously kissing him. It was a kiss, right?

Holy cow. He was being kissed. For the first time in his life. A stolen kiss. Unwanted. Stupid. Given by a man much, much older than he was. By somebody whom he'd never considered as sexed. Ever.

And there was nobody around.

Which was probably Urahara's plan.

He was being _kissed_ by _Urahara_.

Ichigo pulled away late, recovering from the shock with a start. He shoved the shopkeeper away and Urahara stumbled back a few paces. "What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?" He wanted to add something to that. To say it was his first kiss, that it was way beyond any comfort limit. He wanted to slap him, hit him, punch him, fight him. He wanted to shake him. Instead, he found himself tensing, getting ready to strike, his teeth clenching.

Urahara recovered his balance and smiled as if nothing had happened, as if it had been a joke. Then he took out his fan and hid his face behind it.

"_What are you doing_?" Ichigo demanded again.

"Making my intentions clear, so there would be no mistake in our negotiations, Kurosaki-san."

Making intentions clear?... What intentions? What _negotiations_? What was wrong with the man's _head_?

"Please, do sit down, Kurosaki-san. This is about the gate to Hueco Mundo."

"So what the fuck was the kiss about?" Ichigo looked at the shopkeeper fixedly. There man was still smiling from behind his fan, but not doing much else. He looked calm and collected, which, in the context, felt eerie. After an endless half a minute in which neither of them said anything else and Urahara kept smiling as per usual, Ichigo started wondering whether he hadn't somehow hallucinated it. Another thought, of aliens and body replacements, crossed his mind. Urahara, the Urahara _he_ knew, would never have done that.

Well, probably, at least.

"I will explain shortly," the shopkeeper eventually said.

"Well, go ahead already."

"My apologies." But he didn't start speaking right away.

Ichigo wondered what the heck was going on. Was Urahara finally losing a screw? He'd tried to _murder_ him before, but that had seemed explainable in the end. The kiss didn't look very explainable, unless it was some crazy technique that Ichigo never wanted to hear about again.

The shopkeeper fluttered his fan, apparently pausing for dramatic effect. Well, he'd already had an abnormally long time to pause, so Ichigo wasn't overly pleased with it. If there had been ore dramatic effect than there already was, Ichigo would have done what he should've done from the beginning and gone all Vizard on him.

Urahara gestured towards the upper house in an invitation. Without waiting to see if Ichigo followed, he took the lead, silently. They climbed up the stairs to the house and went to the dining room. Urahara's face was inscrutable, not even a hint of actual emotion on it. Ichigo felt his anger and confusion grow. You didn't just jump and kiss somebody. Especially not somebody your own sex. Especially not your bloody trainee/student/whatever.

"It is possible for me to open a gate to Hueco Mundo without much difficulty," the shopkeeper said.

"Yeah, so?" What the bleep did it have to do with the kiss?

"But now only you and me know that, Kurosaki-san."

There was another silence between them as Ichigo took in the meaning of that sentence. Only the two of them knew that. The kiss. 'Negotiations'. Urahara acting strange.

"It is very easy for me to pretend that I am not succeeding in my attempts," the shopkeeper added, giving him another hint. Then he fluttered his fan gently, waiting for Ichigo's reaction, looking as calm as if he'd said something as casual as "would you like some tea?"

"What are you saying?" Ichigo demanded. It wasn't so much a question as it was a threat. _You had better not be saying what I think you're saying._

"That I need some … payment for my struggles, Kurosaki-san. And, as I have stated through my actions just now, I have found a suitable payment for my services."

Urahara prattled on, the words said thus far enough to say it all, so Ichigo didn't need to catch the rest entirely to understand what it meant. Phrases went by him, _'harboring a certain sort of attraction_', _'mutual benefits_', but all he really heard was his ears throbbing, his mind sinking deeper and deeper into disbelief.

"What the..." he mouthed. He didn't feel up to anything more.

"I know that it is homosexual in nature and I am aware that it might also mean I am a pedophile, but I simply cannot convince myself to care, Kurosaki-kun. I am not a man who sticks to rules."

Business-like, brisk, phrased as if in a school manual. Urahara's smile had faded away and his eyes had caught a peculiar, calculating look. Was this it, then? Was this the man behind the mask? A cold bastard, stooping this low? Stopping at nothing?

And then he smiled again, a widening smile. A warmer and warmed smile until Ichigo couldn't bear it and had to look away. He wasn't sure whether he was more upset or disturbed. It was eerie and the onlu thing he could compare it to was a dead squid jumping out of its bucket and declaring that it had always wanted to make out with his sister. It was outrageous. It was stupid. It wasn't happening.

But it was.

And Urahara was saying his name a lot. Kurosaki-san up, Kurosaki-san down, like a weird incantation designed to make him give in. Kurosaki-san...

Ichigo had no idea what to say or do. So he looked up at the smiling shopkeeper again, trying to hold his gaze. "Urahara Kisuke," he said, slowly, deliberately, giving him a taste of his own medicine. "Are you drunk? Drugged? Is that a Compact Soul in your gigai?" Or are you just happy to see me, his mind supplied, sending his mental images askew.

"It's me. I am quite sane and sober, Kurosaki-kun. Well, more or less sane." Grey eyes. Grey calculating eyes from behind the fan. The glint of a plan, of something secret going on, the glimmer Ichigo'd always trusted. Was it a test – then, which was the correct answer? What was he supposed to do?

What if it wasn't a test?

"Fuck off, Urahara. I'm not into that sort of thing. With other guys especially."

Ichigo rose to leave. The sandal-hat remained sitting, thankfully. Maybe it was all a dream, he thought. Maybe he was under his blankets, oxygen-deprived. Stranger dreams had happened.

He took a few steps and was almost out the door before he Urahara's worried voice stopped him. Sing-song. Sugar sweet, diabetes inducing.

"I'm afraid I can't open the gates to Hueco Mundo, Kurosaki-kun. It is beyond my abilities. Maybe Soul Society would be willing to help you? In fact, I think I might have to close business here for awhile and try to regain my lost powers and try to work on some of my experiments. My, my, I'm such a useless old man."

Ichigo froze. He would. Urahara really would do that. The mockery would change to seriousness, the sweetness to sadness. He would pretend he couldn't do it. That he failed, that he was slow and desperate. He turned back and saw the man's narrowed eyes from between hat and fan watching him intently. He was a good actor, when he wanted to be, Ichigo remembered.

"You bastard."

Urahara beamed, as if it were the best of compliments that he was receiving.

"You can't possibly do that. You know we can't get any help from Soul Society."

"My, my, Kurosaki-kun, really? I am so sorry for Orihime-san, then." His features melted into perfect pity.

"Bastard."

"But I might recover my powers."

"What the fuck do you want?" Ichigo finally asked. He was tired from the day's training session, from the kiss that had been stolen, from the betrayal, from the blackmail. He found himself wondering about the terms, even if he didn't intend to give in.

"A chance, Kurosaki-kun." The fan was back in place, waving gently, possibly hiding a smirk that had no place to be there. Ichigo was not giving in. He just wanted to know exactly what he'd been proposed, to disbelieve it all the better.

"A chance to what?"

Grey eyes almost hidden under the brim of his hat seemed to mock him, as if laughing at his inner thoughts. Ichigo needed to get to Hueco Mundo and get Inoue. He needed a gate for that. Soul Society wasn't going to offer it. Both he and Urahara knew that.

And of course the man would resort to blackmail, of all things. What did he want? Ichigo was quite sure he knew what it was and he was sure he didn't want to hear the answer. He was sorry he'd asked, but the reply came nonetheless.

"A chance to fuck you and make you like it, Kurosaki-san."

* * *

**AN:** Like? Don't like? Review/flame. Please. I like either.

The next chapter will be edited in due time. (Yes, I know it desperately needs editing)


	2. Preposterous Practical Proposition

Disclaimer: You don't believe I've somehow bought it since the last chapter, right? Bleach belongs to whomever it belongs to. But the screwed up plot, however, is mine.

Chapter 2: Preposterous Practical Proposition

Ichigo stared down hard at Urahara, who seemed to be as calm as ever, hand slowly waving the fan about. He couldn't believe that the older man had just said that. In fact, a part of his mind was still trying to figure out what else the man could be playing at, spinning in circles and getting nowhere fast. The other part of his mind, growing exponentially larger every second, pointed out that Urahara meant exactly what he said and there was a kiss in the very recent past that proved just that. His lips still tingled slightly, a shadow of his first kiss – damn, his first kiss, now flown out the window – still lingering on them, undeniable, real. He took a breath, then let it out, not knowing exactly how to express his true feelings on the matter. Finally, he opened his mouth and said,

"You're insane. You had too much to drink or something?"

The other man simply shifted further fast, making Ichigo lean back instinctively to get away from him. He leaned back on his elbow, his head thrown back, not entirely certain how to deal with this, how to reject Urahara without actually throwing him against a wall and wondering whether he shouldn't be doing just that before this drugged version of the shopkeeper decided to rape him on the floor. Instinctively, he tried to save normality, to keep backing off slowly in the hopes that the other man wouldn't follow. But the other man _did_ follow, leaning half on top of him, his own hand keeping him balanced above the boy, their bodies not quite touching, the fan on the floor in the man's fist, no longer a barrier between them.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" If Urahara leaned forward just one more fraction of an inch, he'd be flying through the wall.

"Do I _smell_ drunk, Kurosaki-san?"

Ichigo had to admit reluctantly that Urahara did not, in fact, smell drunk. But that didn't exclude the possibility of drugs. He pushed the other man off and was slightly surprised to see that he slid back without protest, landing in nearly the same position as his initial one, calm, collected, fan back in place, waved gently by an elegant hand. No throwing through the wall, then. Ichigo had slightly more trouble straightening himself, or at least pretended to have it in an attempt to stall for the time he needed to find something to say that would make Urahara back off.

"I ain't gay."

"And I am not asking you to fall in love with me."

The teenager frowned. Drugs? How could you tell drugs? What did they do? There had been this lecture on them at school once, which he couldn't remember too well, since it was mostly about the importance of not taking them, but he was quite certain somebody high would have some sort of tell-tale sign. Urahara's green eyes were unreadable, not that he showed much of his true feelings to begin with and not that there was much you could see with the fan covering so much of his face. He looked normal. Not drugs, then.

"What exactly do you want?" he asked, in the end, without finding anything better to say. He regretted the question as soon as he put it, because he remembered the answer that Urahara had already given and didn't care much to hear it again.

"To have a fantasy satisfied, Kurosaki-san. I will make it pleasant for you, too, you needn't fear."

"I don't _want_ to satisfy your fantasy."

"Ah, but you do. Otherwise I will inconveniently not be able to send you to Hueco Mundo. And I am sure you are fonder of Inoue-san than that, aren't you?"

Ichigo's eyes narrowed into shiny daggers. Urahara made no secret of his emotional blackmail, it appeared. Not that he needed to, by now, but really, what was the man's game? After all this time of supposed altruism... This. And, to make it worse, as far as Ichigo could remember, he wasn't the sort of person who had morals or who gave up on his ideas for the sake of others. He realized that the _trade_ was serious, that the shopkeeper would not back down out of it, now that it was in the open. It simply wasn't his style. He was a fox spirit, a trickster with a honeyed tongue. Ichigo should have realized before that there would be a price to pay for all the help he'd gotten. This was it, in the form of a question that wasn't a question, an offer he couldn't refuse. And Urahara was playing it expertly, hiding behind his masks, his damned fan, his voice, his unreadable face, his green eyes that spelled danger. Ichigo was out of his league and the simple fact that he knew what was going on didn't offer him a solution. When Urahara spoke next, his tone was light, almost playful, persuasive. The faked innocence of perversion, setting the two men apart as hunter and prey. It was a spot the younger man didn't like and blackmail was not a game he knew how to play.

"Let's try it, Kurosaki-kun. If you don't want us to go on, we can just stop. Remember! This is about your friend, right? You swore to protect her."

"Bastard."

Urahara came closer to Ichigo and trailed his hand along the younger man's jaw, making him flinch. Ichigo tried not to think of the hand as he considered his options. He could, of course, refuse. No gate, no possibility to get to Inoue. Not an option. He couldn't ask anybody else, not really, the Vizard probably didn't know anything, or at least, not enough, about the gate, Chad and Ishida ... Just no. There was always the possibility of informing the others about the predicament and see if they could bully Urahara into opening the gate, but there wasn't much chance of convincing him to do anything. And it would be embarrassing to tell anything about this to anybody. The shinigami wouldn't help. Rukia and Renji were away. One could, of course, try to follow a Hollow back into its world, but he doubted their chances of success by taking that course of action. Could he make a fuss about Urahara not wanting to open a gate that most people didn't want opened anyway? He found it increasingly hard to concentrate, however, as the older man trailed his fingers along his neck and chin. He was _not_ into men, but that didn't mean that as a teenager he wasn't into touching. He felt those fingers better than he'd have expected to, trailing, caressing, swirling. They raised the very hair on the back of his neck and made his stomach flutter. It felt _good_ and he realized that not only had that kiss been his first kiss, but this was the first time somebody was touching him for pure physical pleasure. And it was _good_. Barely a caress, arousing, not imposing, seducing, not raping. A new thought formed into his mind, a treacherous thought asking why he was fighting so hard against something that felt so good and whether he couldn't just give in for a bit longer. Urahara knew what he was doing.

"Stop that," he told the older man.

"Would you like me to do it differently? Does it feel bad?"

Ichigo just wanted it to stop before he'd do something that he'd later regret. He didn't want to be touched by Urahara like that. He didn't want some crazy shopkeeper to do weird stuff to him. He didn't want those fingers trailing around on his face, which should have been as fucked up as it sounded, except it wasn't. It was brilliant and he wanted to throw his morals out the window not for Inoue, but for himself and his own raging hormones that reminded him how unsatisfactory masturbation actually was. An index finger tickled him slightly.

"I said stop that."

Urahara pulled his hand back.

"As you say, Kurosaki-san. It's all up to you, after all. Both doing and not doing remain _your_ options."

"How about we pretend this never happened and you open the gate and we all mind our own business?"

"No, sorry."

Ichigo had thought that since the other man had pulled back, he'd gotten the point, but it now appeared that Urahara was merely changing positions, so he could lean forward better and play with Ichigo's hair. It felt good, sinfully good, and the younger of the two could've kicked his teenaged body to no end for being so damned sensitive that the simple feeling of fingers twirling his hair would make him feel like melting and leaning further and opening his lips just a little in an unconscious effort to short-circuit his brain and get more.

"Get off me, pervert."

"Kurosaki-san, I can tell that this doesn't leave you unaffected. Your breath is hitching. Your muscles are tensing."

"Because you're a fucked up pervert and this is disturbing."

"And you can't seem to be able to be able to keep your lips in any way but parted."

Ichigo snapped them together quickly and glared.

"I can tell pleasure, Kurosaki-san. You are feeling it. I can make it even better."

"I don't want you to. Get off."

"Ah, Kurosaki-san, you take the fun out of life."

Urahara retreated slowly, dragging his fingers slowly across the younger man's skin. Ichigo twitched, a shiver running up his spine, and cursed himself for his body's reaction which said quite clearly that it didn't care whether the person who did the touching was male or female, as long as they continued. He almost ran out the door.

"Goodbye, Urahara."

"See you soon, Kurosaki-san, ne?"

* * *

All alone in his bathroom, leaning on the sink and staring into the mirror, Urahara Kisuke succeeded in his attempt to look himself in the eyes. Once he achieved that, he picked up a razor. He felt it strange that his reflection was pretty much the same as during all other days when he'd done the same gesture. There was no mark of perversion on his face. There was nothing to prove that he was sinking far, far below any sort of boundaries that he had sworn never to go beyonf.

He'd tell Ichigo half of the truth, yes. How he'd harbored an attraction towards him ever since he'd first seen him, how he'd pictured him naked and writhing beneath him, giving in to the older man, in throes of passion, losing his innocence in a fiery blush as he discovered his first orgasm with another man within him. He'd imagined himself going slowly, conquering the boy step by step, convincing him to surrender his lips, his neck, his shoulders, his arms, his entire body, corrupting him to sweet delights. He'd imagined a seduction, a corruption of the innocence, a gentle hunt that would have the other as a half-willing victim to eventually give in entirely and be _his_. He'd imagined doing many things with the boy and he'd never imagined he'd actually do any of them.

Yet, here was his opportunity. He had a chance. A fucking miserable chance to convince the boy of ... of what? Good intentions? Blackmail doesn't equal love, rape doesn't equal love, hell, _lust_ doesn't equal love. Unless Ichigo decided for no good reason that he _was_ actually gay and he _was_ in love with Urahara and had _been _so for quite awhile before this episode, this would all be a fucked up chapter in his life. One more reason why a person Urahara really cared about would be traumatized.

He slipped the razor slowly across his cheek. He could make Ichigo want him. He knew he could. He had a lot of experience and knew when to move forward and when to back off, he could read the signs saying how his victim would----Dammit. Yes, Ichigo was a victim. How his victim was feeling. He could arouse lust, especially in one so young. Just the right touches, just the right amount of casualty, of freedom that actually restricted. Some blackmail. He'd _have_ him. Possibly begging for more until the final act was done. He could corrupt, he could fuck and he could _mind_fuck.

He wished suddenly that Ichigo wasn't a virgin so he wouldn't feel so guilty about it.

He realized that the boy would be a lot more difficult to corrupt if he had a relationship, if he hadn't deprived himself of physical pleasure from sheer ignorance. As such, he had everything on his side, knowledge, Ichigo's hormones, blackmail, experience, Ichigo's lack of it, a sort of power over the boy from being his teacher, his helper, everything but justice.

Almost done with one cheek, moving towards another. Ichigo was strong. He'd survive. Yes, he'd have to survive even perverted Urahara having his wicked way with him on a futon in the corner of a shop. He'd hate the shopkeeper for the rest of his life and perhaps.... But no, he couldn't even consider the idea of leaving a permanent mark on the boy. That was not an option. He refused to ruin him for this, he refused to taint what was pure more than it needed to be tainted. He'd have to assure him in such a way as to not break him while he was, essentially, breaking him.

Ichigo was strong. He'd move on. And hate Urahara, who had no desire to be hated. He didn't want to hurt the boy, but he would. This was not a simple opportunity in front of him....

He'd have Ichigo once and probably only once, albeit by that time he'd be begging, so he'd have to make the most of it when he could and well, that was that. Once in a lifetime opportunity. No. Not opportunity. It wasn't an opportunity at all. It was something that happened, not something you could catch and bring to fruition. A dream fulfilled only once, too soon, in the wrong way. He wished he didn't have this attraction for this boy. He wished he didn't have feelings for him. It would be easier then. He wished it weren't all so bloody complicated.

Urahara went on shaving carefully, removing all traces of a stubble. It wouldn't do to sting when kissing.

Somehow he hated his life and loved it at the same time for this ... undefinable thing ... that would throw what it wanted at him forcefully. It wasn't his fault – he enjoyed it, in a perverted way. Yes, he did. He _wanted _Ichigo to be his, he wanted to have him, even against his will, to molest him -even the word "molest" was an aphrodisiac, Urahara realized suddenly, as it sent fire straight to his spine in an electrical impulse that then radiated towards his groin. Molest. Throw down and _have_. Make him moan and like it and hate it at the same time, melt and be broken and give in to this humble shopkeeper just once, while the shopkeeper had what he profoundly lusted after, kissing, tasting, diving deep inside the boy, conquering, setting both the other and himself into flames. He wanted it and a part of him loved the fate for offering this to him when all he could do was comply with it and do what was necessary. He'd love it, even if there would be hell to pay. But if he'd have hated it, it would have somehow been better. Maybe.

He wondered for a few seconds if he was wicked or horrid, but then let the thought slip. Really, it wouldn't do to have thoughts like that. He'd do it – another twitch of his stomach as his mind informed that he'd be doing _him_. And that was that.

He had set the trap. The boy would come. He'd sleep with him. It was what he wanted. He would make it good. That was all there was to it.

Damn complications.

His hand faltered for a second in the middle of using the razor for the very last patch of unshaved cheek, nicking him before sliding down his face again.

Damned complications.

He'd sleep with Ichigo. That was all there was to it.

It was somehow alright.

He finished shaving, washed his face once to get the soapy feeling off of it, placed the razor back in its holder, held his gaze steadily in the mirror – much more so than he actually felt he could and applied the aftershave, welcoming the sting.

Alright.

Yeah.

He could almost convince himself of that.

* * *

AN: Read and review! I prefer the good feedback, but constructive criticism is helpful and flaming is fun, so there we go.

_Next chapter_: Isshin gets an inkling that something is very, very wrong.


	3. Kisuke's Killer Kisses

Disclaimer: As usual, I have not acquired the rights to Bleach between the last chapter and this one.

AN: Your reviews are wonderful! I just want to snuggle into bed with them and kiss 'em all over.(but in the absence of a printer, I just snuggle into bed and dream happy dreams) Thank you so much! Also, Merry Christmas! I didn't want to post this this soon, nor make it so long, but then I thought, well, everybody's having a merry time with presents, I'll just work the extra mile today to get it done. * Has this weird feeling she's mixing metaphors *.

Oh, and don't expect this to happen too often. The extra-mega-quick updates, I mean. I _will_ take my time every now and again.

**Chapter 3: Kisuke's Killer Kisses**

(subtitle: Or How Isshin Discovered What His Son And Old Friend Were Up To)

There was a light breeze coming in through the window, bringing with it the distinct smell of that moment of the day when the world slowly sheds its agitation, gets purer and clearer and becomes night. In other words, it was a beautiful, soft evening and Urahara wondered whether Ichigo would show up, whether the boy would have told anybody about this foolish blackmail – which, if he did, Urahara would deny, of course, and say he had been misunderstood – and whether it wasn't, in fact, going to rain later on.

He put his fan down on the windowsill and went to the shop part of the house to arrange a few items on shelves, less from necessity – his shop was well taken care of – and more to find something to do while he waited. Ichigo would come back. It was the moment when he would do so that bothered him – too late and.... He looked at the sweet shelves and decided that the chocolates needed to be closer to the ground, because chocolate was much more in demand nowadays and people would look for it regardless of where it was, while the bonbons were generally forgotten about, so they should be placed higher, to be seen and remind people of their existence.

He took the chocolate down slowly, methodically, almost artfully, trying to achieve that state between concentration and relaxation that got one to simply do things without rush or boredom. He aimed for the total absorption that the simple gesture of taking an object from one location to move it to another one gave, a nearly meditative state. It was this particular set of mind that made him patient, able to cope with every surprise and impediment of life. He would not fidget while waiting for the boy. It was simply not his style. And as he was a more than one hundred year-old shinigami, his style was not something that would be there one moment and discarded the next.

His resolution regarding Ichigo was made for now and, seeing as he was entirely certain that he was doing the right thing, all worries and arguments were discarded. There was no point in agonizing over something he'd reached a conclusion on until he got further data. And he would postpone hating himself until the moment when Ichigo was out the door again. In other words, he would not give himself ulcer over it. Mind over fretting, that sort of thing. Mind over matter was much easier to achieve.

Urahara suddenly wondered what people would say if they knew that, in the depths of his heart, he could be just as stoic and collected as Kuchiki Byakuya, regardless of outward appearance. But, alas, Urahara was just a handsome, lonesome shopkeeper, not a noble captain of the Gotei 13 (mind you, he'd been a captain at one time, just never a noble and that seemed to make a difference. Nobody actually cared whether, without being in one of those families he could've played the part of a member to perfection. Except Yoruichi. She knew and she cared.)

He heard the clinky noise that accompanied anybody entering his shop and his head turned around fast in a mask of slight surprise meant to hide the fact that he had been waiting for the boy almost anxiously – which turned into a very real sort of surprise when Urahara noticed that the visitor was not, in fact, Ichigo.

"Yamada Hanatarou," he said aloud, his lips forming the name that his mind was just drawing a file on. "San," he added almost as an afterthought, as he realized he'd spoken out loud. "Welcome to my humble shop. What can I help you with?"

He got up and brushed a few specks of dust from his knees, offering his very charming buy-something smile.

"Urahara-san," the shinigami bowed low. The shopkeeper suddenly remembered that he'd left his fan on the windowsill and the thought gave him a feeling of being exposed. He slowly considered the thought of being addicted to the fan. "The Gotei 13 would like you to make a few gigai."

"No problem. I still have the ones that they used so far and they are still good. Of course, I can make new ones if they have found fault with the previous batch."

"Oh, no, nothing of the sort," Hanatarou said, almost excusing himself. "It's just that other shinigami want to come to the real world and it would feel strange to be in somebody else's shape, don't you think?"

"Right. Well, then, if you'll send me the files for those who are coming.... In fact, who are they? I can get started on the more tedious, non-aesthetic parts of the job right now, if I know the basics." Plus, he thought, it would keep him busier than non-existent shop shelf trouble.

"Ukitake-taichou and Zaraki-taichou."

Urahara's blank gaze focused on the small shinigami, silently demanding more detail as to why those two would want to come to the real world. As the boy ummm-ed in some distress, he realized that perhaps the seventh seat of the 4th division wasn't getting told much nowadays, so he sighed dramatically.

"I wonder what Soul Society is up to, ne? My, my, I'd better check if I have enough raw material, Zaraki-san tends to be on the larger side of the scale." He took a look at the shelves he had just been arranging and then smiled at his visitor. "Would you like some chocolate, Yamada-san?"

"Errrr...." Hanatarou turned beet-red and shuffled his feet, so Urahara prattled on cheerfully.

"I heard it was hard to get in Seireitei. It is one of my favorite goods, decent profit, many sold items, if there's a food crisis it can keep you better fed and happier than a can of pickled beans would. Well, I'm afraid they sent the last batch to me too close to its expiration date, so now I give them around. It would be a pity to see such a wonderful edible item wasted, don't you think? Want one?"

"Errr... Yes, please, Urahara-san."

'_Poor kid_,' thought the shopkeeper. The small shinigami tended to be so shy, awkward and respectful that Urahara always wanted to offer him something to make it all better. He looked like a kicked dog most of the time and there was just something in the shopkeeper's heart that couldn't resist feeding the strays. Probably the same thing that got young people all over the world screaming to their one-finger-keyboard-typing grandparents "Gah! Just let me, I'll type it for you, alright?!"

Urahara knelt on the floor again and picked up a milk chocolate bar with peanuts and offered it to his visitor. Then he wondered what Ichigo would think if he popped up and realized that not only did blackmail happen in that shop but also a giving of sweets to small, boyish-looking young men. The gesture was, however, entirely innocent. It was the proof that the shopkeeper needed to offer himself that he was capable of disinterested actions – except that, if it was done in the interest of doing something disinterested, it couldn't be disinterested anymore. Ah, well. A handsome, amazing shopkeeper like himself couldn't be bothered with such details.

Hanatarou took the chocolate with exaggerated thanks, then bid his goodbyes and left. Urahara realized he was no longer in the mood to make an art out of sweet-arranging. He was also preoccupied with the reason why the two captains wanted to visit the real world. Ukitake was generally too sickly to take on missions and Zaraki.... Something felt odd there. Also, would he need to make a gigai for Yachiru? How old was she nowadays? Or, how old did she look? He'd do it anyway. She was not to be parted from her captain, no matter what orders said.

"My, my," he muttered, looking at the shelves and picking up the chocolates to arrange back. "How much work one makes for oneself."

He finished with the chocolates, picked up the bonbons and arranged them fast, making a neat circular arrangement with the lollipops, sticking them into a support that allowed them to spread at angles, like a blooming flower. At least, it looked like a blooming flower in _his_ opinion. It might have also been random angles making it look like a lollipop battlefield.

And, as he was placing the last of them on the support, he noticed that while the chocolate was nowhere near the expiration date, the lollipops were. And, as he'd told Hanatarou, he hated wasting sweets, so he took one, unwrapped it, stuck it in his mouth, started sucking and, shortly afterward, commenced humming a happy tune. It was, of course, then that Ichigo came in the store, saying a careless "Evenin'" before stopping short and staring at Urahara as if he'd grown another head. Urahara popped the candy out of his mouth and twirled it between his fingers, pointing it carelessly at the boy.

"Want a lollipop, Kurosaki-kun?"

Ichigo was quiet for a few seconds and then he said, slowly, deliberately, incredulously, "Pervert."

"What?"

They stared at each other, trying to understand what the other was thinking. In Urahara's case, this meant trying to figure out what Ichigo thought he was thinking from the confused, worried, disgusted and uncertain look on his face. He suddenly stopped wondering at the boy's thoughts and started marveling at the expressiveness of his face.

"Does that stand for something?" Ichigo asked. "Is this some fucked up way of asking me to do something really perverted on you?"

Urahara raised his hand and looked at the lollipop in surprise, studied it for a second, then turned his eyes back on Ichigo with a wide, teasing smile.

"Kurosaki-san.... You have a much dirtier mind than I. No symbolism was intended."

"Then you're just trying to get me to suck and lick that thing. After you've sucked it an licked it yourself." Ichigo made a face.

"Near the expiration date, nothing more. And I was offering another one."

"Don't tell me you're_ not_ a pervert, I know better than that."

"I'm not one _now_, Kurosaki-kun. Right now _your_ mind is in the gutter. Mine is clean. I just don't like to see good sweets go to waste."

"Yeah, right. And decide already, am I Kurosaki-san or Kurosaki-kun or what? You keep calling me both and driving me up the wall."

Urahara paused. He'd switched automatically from one to the other, but if he _had_ to choose something to call him constantly, then he'd go for the first name. He sucked on the lollipop thoughtfully, unmindful of the weird look Ichigo sent his way. It would feel quite awkward later if he were to stick to polite suffixes during intimate moments. He popped the candy out of his mouth. "Ichigo. You're Ichigo. Especially if you've decided to take up on my offer. Have you?"

"Can't you just let the subject drop?" The boy didn't expect him to, but he could see the hope there and almost, _almost_ wished he_ could_. But right now his own mind was slowly telling him what Ichigo _could _suck and lick, now that he mentioned it, and it was, frankly, very tempting. Very stirring. He gave the candy a few superficial licks, his tongue darting out of his mouth suggestively while Ichigo scowled darkly.

"Not really. Let me lock the shop and then we can move to a much more pleasant location, shall we? I am done rearranging these shelves. So, would you like a lollipop?"

"No."

"Would your sisters want lollipops?"

"No." And after a second, he added, "Nobody I know wants lollipops."

"Well, you can still think about it. Otherwise I'll have to give them away to children at school and people will get the wrong idea."

"The right idea."

Urahara fiddled with the keys and the shop door, feeling strangely as if he were playing the evil role in a horror movie. He could see the story now: every few days, a customer who came to the Urahara shop would be locked in with the insane owner, who'd proceed to feed them sweets, then tie them up to the bed, ravish them and, because this was a horror movie he was supposed to star in, since locking the door was involved – that was creepy – there would somehow be blood splattered all over the walls before the show was done. But he had no intentions to do anything like that. The blood part. The ravishing sounded good.

He finished fumbling with the door and realized he had spaced out. "Sorry?"

"They'd probably get the right idea, not the wrong one. Perv."

"Ichigo, I am not a pedophile. You look, and are, older than your age."

Not that Urahara wasn't breaking every rule instated for the safety of young people everywhere. He smiled charmingly at Ichigo and gestured to the rest of the house. The boy didn't know it _now_, but he'd soon find out that they were heading straight towards Urahara's bedroom. The shopkeeper discreetly got rid of the lollipop in a trash can in a corner. He hated wasting sweets, but he had something else to do with his hand and mouth and he simply had nowhere to put it.

"And that's why you were offering me a lollipop. Because you want me to be and look as mature as possible."

"Expiration date, Ichigo."

"Yeah, right."

Urahara shrugged.

"What do you want from me?"

"As I've said. I want to fuck you and make you like it. Is it really that hard to understand?"

"Yeah, but...." There was a furious blush on the boy. "I can handle that, I think. I've been in a lot of pain, ya know. And discomfort. And there's the Hollow inside of me. You're a fucked up pervert, just for the record. I can't believe this is what you'd ask for, but hey, old enough to kill and get killed against your will, old enough to fuck a man who was supposed to be on your side."

Urahara threw a look sideways. Ichigo was so _young_ at times. So _innocent_. It was not the same thing, not the same thing at all, and even if the boy was trying to put on a show of bravado – or was that irony he was trying to throw at Urahara? - he was doing it badly. And did he honestly not know how different it would be to have himself molested from having himself nearly killed? The latter got your body. The first got your spirit.

The physical inconvenient was much smaller, true, but....

"Kurosaki-san...."

"There you go again. Make up your mind how you want to call me. Anyway, I hope you don't want me to do anything really fucked up like pretend I'm a ten year-old or wear dresses or whatever."

Urahara stopped in his tracks and caught Ichigo's arm, frowning.

"_Kurosaki-san_," he repeated, darkly, wishing he had his fan again. He_ was_ addicted to it. "As I've said, my intentions are to sleep with you and give you pleasure. Your first time shouldn't be something you _bear_. And I am not going to do anything of the sort to you. I am not a man who dreams of something else than he attempts to obtain. If I _wanted_ a ten year-old that bad, I assure you, I would _get_ a ten year-old." No, that wasn't true. He'd never act on it. But an argument was an argument. "If I wanted a woman, I would get a _woman_. As it is, I want you. No dresses, no games of play-pretend. No romantic dinners in which you play the female. Or does that scare you even more? That you'll have to be yourself?"

"I'm not scared, old man," Ichigo scowled. "I've been through worse."

'_No, you have not,_' Urahara thought. Ichigo had always been able to fight his attackers off, to find a way to get better, to improve so that whatever hurt him would never happen again. But this.... This would be intimate. This would be something he wouldn't be able to escape. But outwardly, he nodded. "If you say so."

They started walking again and soon enough Urahara was inviting the boy into his bedroom. The younger man frowned, had a slight hesitation, but went in, observing the room's sparse furnishings. A futon, a tiny bed stand (odd to see it there without a bed), a low table possibly used as a desk.

"So, this is it, eh?"

Urahara didn't answer that question, but shut the door behind them. The image of the horror movie jumped into his mind again. The room was dark, since the sun had pretty much set by now and he hesitated whether to turn on the lights. Ichigo sat down on the futon, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Light. There had to be some light. Eventually, Urahara went to the very low bed stand and turned on the bedside lamp that he used for reading. A bunch of books were piled up on the bed stand and around it, since he was never sure what he wanted to read before bedtime – and he also kept forgetting to return them to their proper shelves. The orange lamp gave off a soft, warm light that was just enough to ward the "I'm going to rape you immediately" sort of feeling away. Ichigo picked up the first book he laid his hands on, opened it and frowned, reading very slowly.

"_Sen kyuu hyaku sanjuu go nen, roku gatsu, watashi ha minami america ni aru noujou wo hanare, rokkagetsu taizai suru yotei de, igirisu ni modotte kita._[1] Hey, I didn't know you could read English, Urahara. What is this?... A-ga-tha Christie. "The A.B.C murders"?"

"I have varied literary tastes, Ichigo. And varied talents."

Ichigo put the book down. "So."

"So."

"How exactly does this work?"

Urahara grinned at him.

"Why, now you get seduced by the wonderful, handsome, perverted shopkeeper, of course." He would have liked to flutter his fan around to make a point. Well, he'd remember not to leave it lying about again. Instead, he grinned at him and sat down on the futon. Time to get to the seducing part of the business, especially since there was no point in beating around the bush. They both knew why they were there.

Urahara gently touched Ichigo's chin and raised the boy's face so they were looking at each other. He tried to keep his calm, but found that his stomach and his nether region were distinctly holding their own against his usual coolness. He caressed softly before leaning in and gently, slowly touching Ichigo's lips with his own. Then, when he realized the boy wasn't about to sprout and run off, he sneaked his tongue out, drawing it across Ichigo's mouth sensuously and receiving a hitched breath for his efforts. Thank God for teenage hormones, Urahara thought as he carefully tangled his hand in Ichigo's hair, drawing him closer, taking his lower lip between his own, sucking on it, scraping it lightly with his teeth. He heard another sharp breath from the younger man and he couldn't deny the growth of his arousal that demanded that he just drop the slow motion and promptly have his way with a half-willing victim. Pound Ichigo through the floor. Have him, mark him as his own. He had denied himself for so long that control was difficult. And as for Ichigo, that one had never satisfied himself in the first place and his body didn't care what the mind had to say about the partner's gender.

Despite wanting to take it slowly, carefully, seductively, he found himself pushing the boy down on the futon and leaning over him. He had to take it slow, dammit. Remind himself that ravishing a virgin who didn't really want him was not the best way to go about it.

"Ichigo, you are so tempting," he muttered, hoping that the words would keep him in check, that hearing his own voice would remind him not to become a dark, lusty monster of an incubus. "You have no idea."

He caught the other's mouth with his own again, darting his tongue between Ichigo's lips, opening his mouth wider, exploring it, tasting it almost desperately. The younger man tried to reply in the very same fashion, but Urahara realized that he was awkward, that he didn't know what to do, that he unsuccessfully attempted to copy what was being done to him. He sighed somewhere between thrill and pleasure.

"You've never kissed before," he stated, pulling back with one of those annoying perverted smiles that would throw a lot of people off.

"No, dammit. If you wanted a professional you should've gotten one. Are you gonna demand I be very good at this from the very start?" Ichigo was scowling and blushing at the same time, looking up on the ceiling.

"No need to get upset. Kissing is an art.... How about I teach you?"

And he did set out to teach him, focusing on being a teacher again so as not to be his own perverted self who would pounce on him and ruin everything. He showed him how to nibble on a person's lip, to suck on it, how to tease, to shift between hot, demanding, bruising kisses and light, tantalizing feathery caresses of the lips and tongue. How to surprise with a daring dart of tongue and then pull back to allow the other the space to desire and want more of the same. He whispered his advice, gasped his encouragement, let his natural reactions show when he might have hidden them otherwise. Ichigo, on his side, caught on quickly, as he usually did, delighting in his new found skills, aiming to get better, to become a master of the art. Urahara realized between two hazy thoughts of ever increasing lust that he'd managed to somehow find a path that would get the boy fine through all of this. He left himself all open, showed his appreciation openly and only his his smiles when Ichigo started to grin, to get cocky, to have an initiative of his own, to enjoy the power he had over him. That's how they learned, Urahara thought. Show them the right way and reward them for it.

As time went by, his inexperience faded, being replaced by his trademark daring, at least as far as lips were concerned. He managed to roll them so that Urahara was underneath and delighted in his control more than he did in the pleasure or in the person he was with. And that was fine with the shopkeeper. He lived to serve. Or something.

But as time went by and they stopped from time to time to say something, to take a breath, to take a break, Urahara realized that Ichigo was not ready for more, not yet. That this was enough for him, that he had been given wings and loved them. He did not need a full airplane yet.

The metaphor wasn't perfect, but Urahara's mind was getting cloudy. _He_ was no virgin. This was not enough for him. He wanted more, his body _knew_ more and soon it would demand beyond the point of no return, when he'd _need_ to be pleased.

And when that time came, he excused himself with a grin, fell on his back, loosened his kimono and, under Ichigo's very, very wide eyes, masturbated shamelessly, hard, willing himself to forget that the boy was next to him and very, very tempting.

"What are you doing?"

"Ichigo, that is such a stupid question," he said, with the last of his coherence, as Ichigo watched in fascination as Urahara brought himself to completion with a groan.

"Why?" he asked, after the man had finished. "I'm.... I said I would...."

"Because I didn't want to overwhelm. Besides, I would not have been at the height of my prowess and control, Ichigo."

"But now...."

"Did you really want to be fucked tonight? Pounded into the mattress mercilessly? It is enough for now. Trust me."

"But I...."

Then he turned back towards the boy and remembered that he was probably sporting an erection, too.

"Do you want me to ... aid you, Ichigo?"

There was a pause as the teenager hesitated between two possible courses of action. Finally, he whispered, "no." And that proved Urahara's point. "Can I use your bathroom?" Well, most of his point anyway.

"Second door on the right."

"Yeah."

It was all Urahara could do not to burst out laughing as the younger man disappeared to take care of his own problem in private. Ichigo, meanwhile, found his way to the very same bathroom where Urahara had shaved not that long ago and, cursing himself, leaned against the wall and went through the approximately same motions that the blond had gone through not long before. He figured the older man would know what he'd come to do, but couldn't bring himself to care as his lust grew to a level he'd never quite experienced before in the same conditions. He moved his hand fast, with arrhythmical movements and cursed as the pleasure skyrocketed and engulfed him whole. He bucked his hips into his hand and kept moving slowly even as he came down from the clouds. Then, as clarity slowly returned to him, he went to lean against the sink, turned on the water, washed his hand and his cock and, cursing, but this time not from pleasure, grabbed a rag that was lying behind the sink and washed the floor with it. He needed to be more careful about where he did some things. And when all was said and done, he washed his face and hoped desperately that Urahara wouldn't mention that he _knew_.

When he returned, the shopkeeper just gave him a small smile and invited him on the futon. Ichigo figured that his situation was singularly strange, but he also had this odd feeling that he had a choice in this. And that the older man was his teacher yet again. This was ... an exploration, not a submission. Urahara gave himself to Ichigo in return, taught him. He could, in some weird way, trust him again. As a teacher. _Sensei_. Teacher. Literal meaning, "born before". He'd never thought about the literal meaning of the word's components, but now he did. How old was the shopkeeper anyway? Since when had he been doing things like these?

"Did you always like guys, Urahara?" Even now, he couldn't bring himself to call the man Kisuke, not really. It was about the role, he guessed. And Urahara didn't ask him to do so, either.

"Hmmm?... Oh. I'm bisexual, Ichigo."

"Really?"

"Yes."

There was another pause in which Ichigo stared at the wall, trying to figure out whether this could be, indeed, qualified as a teaching situation. Whether this was some sort of complicated, messed up plan made by a complicated, messed up ex-Gotei 13 captain. After awhile, Urahara decided to ask.

"Anything bothering you, Ichigo?"

"Can I ask you a question?" There went the test, he guessed. He'd found something he wanted to ask about.

"Certainly. You can always ask. I might not answer."

"Erm. Well. The thing is...."

"Yes?"

"I never understood...."

"What?"

"The pleasure in getting hickeys. I mean, I've heard girls giggle about them and all that, but I can't see the pleasure in getting a bruise."

Urahara grinned very widely and Ichigo thought that he could've chosen a different subject. He also thought that it was only Urahara that could make this situation seem so casual. He also considered the fact that this was a lot weirder than any of his encounters with the Arrancar or shinigami who had done him harm. It was.... More intimate, yes. How would it have been had he simply slept with Urahara? Would he have been subject to the same sort of blackmail again and again? Would he be so now? How could he still trust this person even when.... But there was just this hint of goodness, of decency about the shopkeeper that _made sense_, that made him human, that made Ichigo unable to hate him for this. Perhaps it was his liking of the man as a person.

On his side, Urahara could have replied – but wouldn't have – and explained some psychological things that made sense. But he was too busy amusing himself with the question. "Oh, poor, innocent Ichigo. Let me show you. The way to do it will only be taught in lesson 2, though. I do not guarantee for my actions if we continue tonight."

He rose in a sitting position and applied his lips to Ichigo's neck, sucking and nibbling until he had the boy nearly get an erection again. Eventually he pulled himself back.

"There it is," he explained. "Now you have a hickey."

Ichigo touched his neck, surprised.

"Really?"

"Oh, yes."

* * *

Isshin couldn't help but notice that Ichigo got home very late that night, but a certain certainty and power could be felt in his reiatsu, unlike the worried, scowling countenance he'd had the previous afternoon. It was almost dawn. But, knowing that the boy had a messed up life, he decided not to let on that he was awake or aware. He had followed Ichigo the previous day, to make sure he wouldn't get into trouble and had calmed himself knowing that he was at Urahara's shop. It seemed now that Isshin's old friend had managed to set his son on his own two feet again and that was good. He'd probably offered him tea and a talk, or whatever that man did.

Isshin went back to bed, relaxed with the knowledge that all his children were safe.

* * *

That morning at breakfast, Isshin suddenly noticed something on his son's neck. A bruise. A bruise that looked exactly like a....

"Where've you been last night?" he asked his son. "I know it, Ichigo! I know you came back late! Have you been with a girl? You can tell dad if you were with a girl, it breaks my heart that you're so grown up, but...."

"Urahara's."

"Oh." He abandoned his cheerful prattling speech before taking on another one. "Was any of your friends there? Have you decided to use Urahara's as a love hotel? I'm quite certain that...."

"Nah, nobody but me and that perverted shopkeeper."

Isshin felt his heart being gripped by a certain dread, especially when Ichigo added "perverted" to "shopkeeper". Granted, that was how Urahara referred to himself, but.... What if there was more to it? He pretended to be casual, prattled on annoying all his kids, while wondering whether the bruise was nothing more than a bruise or, indeed, a hickey. Was the boy lying and had there been somebody else there? Like Rukia or Yoruichi? Had he left Urahara's and gone to see somebody else during the night? Was Ichigo lying to him? Please, let the boy be lying to him.

...Or was that bruise courtesy of the shopkeeper? He remembered Urahara quite well, too well to not consider that option. And the more he thought about it, the more he considered it, until he started feeling almost certain about it, when he sniffed the trace of a man's cologne while attacking his son. He asked Ichigo when he left for school what cologne he'd used and, hearing that he hadn't used one and never had, as his father knew too well, he felt that he was slowly reaching a dreadful certainty.

He'd have to murder Kisuke. There was no other way about it.

* * *

AN: Woohoo! Another chapter done.

Footnote 1: The first sentence of Agatha Christie's "The A.B.C. Muders". Original English: "It was in June of 1935 that I came home from my ranch in South America for a stay of about six months." The Japanese version says pretty much the same, except it mentions the home being England. I figured this: if they're from Japan and I'm writing in English pretending they're speaking Japanese, then I might as well use Japanese for when they want to say something in English. It makes perfect sense. At least right now it does.

* * *

So, if you've read it, please review! Best Christmas present for an author on ! :D


	4. Isshin, Ichigo, Insatiability

Disclaimer: As usual, I have forgotten who owns Bleach, but it definitely wasn't me.

AN: This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful, amazing KitsuneDragonHeartLove, who was the only person to answer my call on New Year's Eve, when my bf had accidentally locked me out of the hotel room, wouldn't answer the phone (I thought he'd fallen asleep. He was swimming in the pool. And there was a mysterious pile of clothes in front of the door that belonged to nobody we can think of.), when my mother wasn't available for a call either and dad was in Switzerland. Thank you, KitsuneDragonHeartLove! May you enjoy this chapter that I shall re-re-edit after I'm done with re-editing just for you, since you deserve it extra good.

I've also edited the first chapter and now it's about twice as long.

(Oh, and I got inside the hotel room eventually.)

Chapter 4: Isshin, Ichigo, Insatiability

(or: How Urahara Kisuke Could Have Been Murdered, But Wasn't, Because the Story Would be Boring Otherwise)

(or: The Plot Appears. Because There Has Been a Plot All Along, Actually, Lurking, Waiting to Come Out.)

Sweep. Sweep. Sweep.

Sweep ... Sweep … Sweep.

Urahara walked slowly through the shop, moving the dust around in long, slow motions. One, two, three. One ... two ... three. He had a rhythm. A slow, comfortable rhythm that was meant to keep him in a quiet, relaxed state for a long time.

It was all moving quite quickly. He'd started the blackmail on Saturday, got Ichigo to agree and snog him thoroughly on Sunday and now he had to wait while the boy finished his classes this Monday. It felt as if time had somehow expanded, that it was weeks between each event, that each moment lasted days. What were the risks of this stunt, anyway? Inoue was, according to his logic, not in much danger. If they'd have wanted to kill her.... No, she was probably alive and well – the question being what they wanted her for. They'd already done most of the work to ensure the safety of Karakura, the rest was up to Mayuri.... He'd worked a bit on the gigai, but had decided he didn't really want to delve into that sort of work for awhile.

So, 2 hours until Ichigo finished, then he'd probably come straight there. At his current rate of sweeping, of 3 movements every five seconds, he would have 36 movements per minute, 1800 per hour, allowing for a ten minute break and a need to change locations more drastically than the one step at a time pace, 3600 per two hours, about 3800 before Ichigo could get there, therefore he would be able to sweep his entire property at leisure.

The door to the shop opened and Urahara's mind promptly announced that delays were included in the sweeping calculations, since his shop required fewer sweeps, anyway. He raised his head and genuinely smiled at the visitor. He hadn't seen the man for a very long time, even if they were something along the lines of close friends who don't talk often, but get along well when they actually do chat.

"Isshin-san!" he said with genuine cheeriness. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

Ichigo's father didn't seem quite as happy to see Urahara as vice versa. He had a dark, no nonsense attitude and a frown to match his son's. In fact, he looked like a man who had just discovered something that he didn't particularly like in his shopping basket and suspected that the salesman had tried to slip something among his chosen goods.

"Urahara. Have you given my son a _hickey_?"

Urahara realized that this was the exact sort of moment one should have a fan for, so he propped his broom against a shelf, took out his fan and placed it in front of his face. He considered an answer, then allowed some surprise and remorse to show on his features.

"Ah. Oops. Yes."

There was a short silence as Isshin tried to find the words he had been searching for ever since the idea of this possibility had occurred to him.

"I will kill you for daring to touch him," Isshin explained, frowning darkly. "I will tear you apart limb by limb and kill you. I will torture you...."

And then the phone rang.

"Hold that thought, will you?" Urahara said, pleasantly, behind his fan. "I think this call is something important."

"This isn't funny, Urahara. And I am not kidding."

"I know. Please, give me a chance to explain after the phone call."

The shopkeeper picked up the receiver, thinking that if it was going to be something as stupid as a person ordering a batch of expired lollipops or something as odd as Ichigo calling to whisper sweet words in his ear, he'd be in a bind. This thought was confirmed by a sword appearing seemingly out of nowhere and resting gently against his neck.

"So, talk, then," Isshin urged him, stepping so close to Urahara that at any other time he'd have wondered whether by seducing the son he hadn't somehow done the same with the father. "And then I want to know why one of my old friends is toying with my son. Because I know you, Kisuke, and I know you're _toying_. I know the way you are, sleeping around, never really caring, never really getting involved, except...."

Urahara swallowed and concentrated on the receiver. "Hello?"

"Kisuke, finally."

"Yoruichi," Urahara acknowledged her and felt the sword's steel pressing into his skin. Isshin didn't appreciate being interrupted in his monologues – not generally and certainly not when he perceived there was something wrong going on between his old friend and his son. "So? Please, speak quickly."

"Well, Seireitei is acting exactly as you have anticipated. I'm worried. You know the decision they've reached and I guess you don't like it any more than I do. Jeez', this is so messed up. Anyway, Byakuya is keeping an eye on Rukia and Renji to make sure they won't run to the real world any time soon, because that would get them all in a lot of trouble, but Bya will try to smooth things out."

"I see."

There was a pause as Urahara wondered whether to tell her about the situation he was in at the moment. Isshin's breath was loud, rasped, mad, raising the hair on his neck, where it touched him. He was, he had to admit, slightly afraid.

"About Ichigo," Yoruichi continued, "I really don't like what you have in mind for the boy, don't think I don't know that you've started that little thing of yours and.... Are you alright there?"

Isshin was leaning a bit too much against him and the sword's pressure against his neck was getting painful. He'd given a tiny whimper in desperation, he realized now. This was not the way he'd pictured dying. He didn't think this was the way anybody pictured dying.

"Isshin is currently holding a sword to my neck and I fear my conversation time is running out," he explained, not quite managing to keep the rising worry out of his voice.

"What?!"

"Goodbye, Yoruichi. Thank you very much for the information."

"Kisuke! Dammit, don't get murdered!"

Urahara put the receiver down and swallowed. Isshin's breath on his neck and was like a dragon's murderous, scalding fire. He could try a demon art, but he wasn't sure it was a good idea. How sure was he there wouldn't be an accident – painful for Isshin, deadly for himself?

"So. What do you want with my son? I'm giving you a chance to explain because you're my friend and didn't have the cheek to lie me in the face, but you had _better_ have a good explanation."

Urahara wondered how quickly the "I want to fuck him and make him like it" reply would get him killed. He touched Isshin's zanpakuto gingerly and decided that it would be very, very fast indeed. So, instead, he lowered his hand and sighed. Might as well take out the ace from his sleeve and wave it around frantically, hoping it would save him. He only had that one card, but it was pretty good – good enough, he hoped.

"I have a special status with Soul Society," he explained, slowly, trying to make Isshin catch the idea.

"I know." He hadn't caught it. The shopkeeper wondered how much more pressure he could bear on his throat before the sword drew blood.

"And Ichigo also has a very, very special status with Soul Society." Get the point, Isshin. "Some would say that he not only broke the rules, but that his very existence is a breaking of the rules. Important rules. Unbreakable rules. That concern Hollows and Shinigami."

The sword's pressure decreased ever so slightly. He was starting to get it – at least the latter part. And, luckily, Isshin wasn't the sort of person who rushed into murder. Give him something to think about and you _might_ survive.

"I don't see any connection, Kisuke. You have no sway over Seireitei. Don't go around pretending that you do."

"No. No sway. Yoruichi has no sway, either. Nor Byakuya. Nor Zaraki. The might of two noble families and the might of, well, just _might_, is not enough. They've tried and tried, but frankly, they stood no chance from the beginning, when this matter was raised."

"If _they_ couldn't do anything...."

"I can. Let's sit down, Isshin. There's things we need to talk about and very little time before Ichigo gets here."

So they locked the shop and went to the kitchen, where Urahara fidgeted surprisingly little before closing his eyes and starting to tell a tale that, he knew even know, actually would end with, "so you see, what I really want with him right now is to sleep with him and have him enjoy it. The rest, all the rest, is not something he needs to concern himself with." And he hoped it would save his life.

But it began with, "The point is, I think, that I am sorry and that I _will_ do this. Do you understand? If we must, we'll fight over it, but I think you'll come to see my point. I _will_ sleep with your son, hell, I might even make him miserable, but it's something I _must_ do. I will try to.... To bear him in mind as much as possible. But Soul Society is going to the dogs – and I have a very special status within it."

* * *

When Ichigo came by the shop not much later, Urahara was sweeping. There was no trace of Isshin and even if there had been, he would never have suspected that he'd come there with a killer intent. Or that he had been so frustrated, so upset and so sad that he had taken out all his anger on a tea set Urahara had in the shop and had threatened to castrate the man if.... not even Isshin had known what. Or that he had, in the end, reluctantly left Urahara to do whatever he willed, that he had _seen his point_, for the same reason that Yoruichi had left him to his design.

_'I am an evil, evil man and nobody can touch me,'_ the shopkeeper thought. Probably neither of them really understood him and that was why he could pose as a nice person. As an altruist of sorts. He knew however that he was, despite all other implications, a pervert who wouldn't be denied his prize. Not now that he had Ichigo in sight. Not even if his alibi were to collapse to pieces. He'd have the boy. And he'd make it damned good for both of them, if possible.

Although he was suddenly starting to wish that Ichigo discovered very quickly that he had a passion for having it rough.

"Hello, Ichigo!" he greeted him with a cheerfulness he didn't really feel. Yoruichi's message meant that they had less time than he'd thought. They needed to finish here – _now_. Soon. No slowing down, he thought. They had until.... Probably until the next day or the day after that.

"Urahara."

"Lock the door to the shop, will you?"

Ichigo hesitated just for a second before doing just that. Urahara thought that he'd have preferred to wait some more, _toy_ with him, as Isshin had put it – even if he'd meant it as an insult –, teach him slowly, satisfy his own fantasy of gentle seduction. And now, today, it was different than yesterday. Today the victim locked himself inside. Today they'd go fast. Today he wouldn't stop and masturbate so that he wouldn't harm, so that he wouldn't move past a shifting limit.

Urahara let the broomstick down, abandoning his work which would be doomed to be done another day. Kurosakis tended to mess things up, apparently. Then he led them back to his bedroom, to the scene of the previous evening, where he noticed, once the boy's shirt was down, that the hickey was entirely too visible. Because Ichigo had, for no apparent reason, abandoned his shirt almost as fast as they stepped inside.

„Hot, isn't it?" Urahara asked softly.

„I figured it might get in the way," Ichigo explained, then blushed with embarrasment. „I shouldn't have done that."

„No, no, it's alright. You should know that the secret to this sort of thing is to do whatever you want as if you were entirely certain that it's right and yet be polite about it."

„Am I polite?"

„If I told you to put it back on, would you?"

„Yes."

„Then you are – no, don't actually do it. It _was_ in the way. And you look better without it. But perhaps, in other company, it would be best not to start throwing clothes around the moment you go through the door, eh?"

Ichigo sat down on the futon and put his head in his hands, looking disgruntled. Urahara sat down on the floor next to him, waiting to be told what the issue was before making a move. They had this much time, at least, to ease the mind before uneasing it entirely. The young man wasn't the sort of person who'd keep it all locked up inside when he had a question. He was straight to the point, not exactly timid and not intruding either – it was all a part of him. Urahara loved that about him, the straightforwardness, the easiness with which he could be convinced to do something _good_. And here he was, a dirty old man seducing him as best he could, for his own dirty fantasies and backed up by an infernal situation that kept people off his back with respect to morality.

„Urahara, why don't I hate you?" Ichigo finally asked. „I should, shouldn't I? And yet, I find that I can't. Even if this is blackmail, you act as if it weren't. Why do you get that look in your eyes?"

„What look, Ichigo?"

„That pained one. The one you're wearing now. You hate this. Why? It was your idea."

Urahara tried to throw on a cheerful smile and brush it off with a laugh. As he did it, he realized with a pang that it was coming out natural. Too much practice at it, probably. He could fake his own laugh perfectly. It was something he usually enjoyed being able to do, yet now he found himself suddenly wishing that the boy would see that it was a fake. That he felt like dying on the inside with the number of answers. Half-truth, he decided suddenly. He didn't want to say a complete lie. He couldn't lie. He wanted to stop lying.

„Because I am a perverted shopkeeper and despite my handsomeness, this is my only chance to bring the object of my desires to bed." Truth. Yes. Half of it. He'd focus on himself, his own dirtiness, not admiting that he'd have wanted Ichigo to be free to experience, to learn all with somebody he loved. Rukia, perhaps. Or somebody his own age, Orihime, or.... Or somebody who deserved him. Somebody whom he wanted. Somebody who would make this memorable because it was fumbling, trial and error, fresh, new, exciting. Because he was in love and air-headed.

„Urahara...."

„May you never know why I'm doing this and how I feel, Ichigo. Let's leave it at that."

„Urahara...."

„Just a handsome shopkeeper seducing you, Ichigo! Think no more of it, right? My, my, you worry too much." Please worry some more. Please see beyond the mask.... Please run.

There was a silence. The older man wondered how to change the subject, how to get them on the right track, because this was the night when it would happen. It had to. And then the blackmail would be at an end, and Ichigo would leave and Urahara would be.... Still there, he supposed, doing research, making those gigai for Zaraki and Ukitake, taking care of the same things as always, meeting Yoruichi. And never having another chance, he supposed.

"Urahara.... I just want you to know.... It's alright. I didn't expect it to be, but it is. I.... People expect me to be so … so mature, really, because of all this shinigami shit, but actually I never knew exactly what to do and whom to ask about this sort of thing. And I always thought I'd have to suck badly with whomever I tried to date first, that I'd screw up, fail, not know what to do. In my fantasies, I just never.... Well.... There's a sort of _idea_ there, but I couldn't.... My imagination just failed after awhile, I guess. What if I suck in bed, Urahara?"

"You worry too much, Ichigo."

"I just didn't know who to ask, that's all. Or _how_. The stories never really explain why a man's a better lover than the next. I'd never go to Renji, Ishida's a prick.... I have no clue what Chad knows. And dad's an idiot."

Urahara winced. Isshin was _not_ an idiot. Nor was he a weak, chipper sort of person. But, well, that was an entirely different can of worms and something the two Kurosakis had to talk about together. He'd have to make a note to talk of it to Isshin, to get him to tell his son.

"I just want to say thanks, I guess," Ichigo mumbled. "Not for the blackmail part. For teaching me."

Ichigo missed the second wince just as he'd missed the first one. Just when the shopkeeper had thought that there was no way in which he could have been worse to the kid, Ichigo just _had_ to go and get one of those abuser-victim complexes. He just _had_ to thank him for doing something like that – he had to prove to understand nothing about what had been taken from him, about how this old man had used his tricks to get him to do things he'd never have considered in a thousand years. It had been his age and timidity that had allowed the older man to seem so nice and open. Urahara found himself wishing he'd get punished for this, that somebody would see that he _wanted_ this like a lecherous old man. That he would take what he wanted like a lecherous old man. Because he couldn't and wouldn't stop himself tonight. He wouldn't take it too easy. His nature was like a dam, building up energy when something really preoccupied him. And too much energy, badly managed, tended to explode. Today there was no time for him to manage it well, to smooth things out, to hold back, to tease and caress. He wanted it too damned much.

"I'm using you," he said, in a burst of sincerity. "I am tricking you into it, Kurosaki-san. Please don't consider me to be any better than I am."

"I'm grateful you're not worse, eh, Urahara? And what's with the names again?"

The older man leaned over the boy to silence him with a kiss, not wanting any more talk. They might as well both enjoy this now. And set the kid right later. Unlike the previous night, however, he didn't take it slowly, nor did he stop to teach. He focused solely on Ichigo's pleasure. He licked and nibbled his neck, dragging his teeth and mouth against the boy's shoulders, considering another hickey and then deciding against it. He took control, demanded, wanted, touched the boy everywhere he'd ever dreamed of, biting an arm gently, pining him down when he buckled too much. He mapped the other's body until he overwhelmed him and didn't leave room for struggles. Urahara was strong – people kept forgetting that, but he was strong and willful and prone to conquering by passion as well as by wit.

As for Ichigo, he shivered under him, gasped and moaned at leisure, losing himself and knocking Urahara's hat off almost accidentally. He caught the other man's hair in his fist, the thought that perhaps he should do something in return flickering on and off, remembered and then forgotten again as what Urahara did felt too damned good for him to care anymore. The shopkeeper would later tell him that much of a lover's skill had to do with their reactions and Ichigo got that pinned down perfectly. The older man's tongue darted here and there across his body, hot, wet, caressing, bringing with it white-hot pleasure, pure floating above the world.

There was a short break as Urahara took his clothes off and removed Ichigo's remaining clothes with expert hands and speed that were a tribute to his prowess as a shinigami. When they were both naked, the older man threw himself on top of Ichigo again, his hair falling softly on the boy's face, his eyes shining with the sparks and inflexions of lust, deep, profound, real, from the very core of himself. He murmured in a rough voice against the boy's ear, "I'm sorry, Ichigo. It will have to be tonight. I tried, but I can't wait anymore." And thankfully, he noticed that the younger man's expression was one of both surprise and desire, having also gone beyond the point of squeamishness and fear.

Urahara didn't want to wait for an actual answer, so he captured the other's lips with his own again and reached for a bottle of lotion he'd hidden conveniently amongst his fallen stack of books next to his nightstand. Ichigo was still and tense for a second – Urahara would have loved to have taken it more slowly, to tease him forever until the boy just melted against him, but.... - and then the boy seemed to remember himself and relax. The older man wondered if Ichigo was tempted to ask him to go slow or to stop or to ask if it was going to hurt. Maybe remind him that he was still a virgin, demanding some sort of mercy in front of the unknown. But he did none of those, just waited, kissed in reply, nibbled and sucked at Urahara's own throat as the man spread the lotion on himself and then on his hand.

When his index finger touched Ichigo's opening, the boy jumped against him, instinctively trying to get out of reach. It was too fast, Urahara thought, cursing the fates. He hadn't gotten him used to the idea, even if he had turned him on enough. He pinned him down again and kissed him thoroughly and hotly – lesson number 11 from the night before, a stray thought said.

"Relax, it's gonna be good," he promised and swore to himself he'd make it so.

"'ts ok," Ichigo answered, breathing hard, trying to make it so by stating it. "No problem."

Urahara slowly inserted the first finger, feeling the boy squirm uncomfortably under him. He leaned down to capture the other's lips again and soon Ichigo was pretty much neglecting the intrusion and growing lustful again. The second finger went in easier. He didn't bother with a third, but replaced them with himself, needy, lost in his own little world of desire, knowing that even if the boy cried quits now, he wouldn't be able to stop, that he'd rape instead of take what was half-willingly given.

It was tight and hot and everything he'd imagined, better even, a fantasy that turned out to be much more satisfying in reality than his mind had promised it to be. Ichigo gasped under him and jumped slightly, shaking, attempting to go away again, but then returning of his own will. Urahara caught down his body with his own and _moved_. He moved in him slowly, swinging almost all the way out, then back in again, trying to keep his pace steady, pleasant for the other, but he soon faltered and increased it, concerned with his own pleasure, biting down on a shoulder, holding the boy tight against his chest, burning, dying with his own desire, his own happiness, his own selfish, selfish lust. And he loved every second of it, he wanted more, needed more, shivered, couldn't help but feel that he essentially devoured the boy, had every fiber of his being dissolving into his own.

He whispered mad things into Ichigo's ear and felt the other answer to them, but not in fright, not trying to run off, but hanging on, after a short while attempting to move with him and failing, since Urahara didn't really have a pace, but molten fire through his veins, growing incessantly until it became all consuming and had him crying out loud with the sheer force of it, the sheer overbearing power of lust coming to its close, heart pounding madly, mind awash with brightness, eyes squeezed shut since sight was for now an overrated sense.

And when it was all said and done and he was lying next to Ichigo, consciousness returning, he found he could not be sorry enough for anything to apologize. His inner demon had been let loose and it felt, right now, thoroughly satisfying. They lay there, on their backs, not really looking at each other, lost in thoughts, sleepy, but unwilling to sleep. He was both spent and exuberant, a part of him doing an inner victory dance, basking in the afterglow of having had what he'd wanted for too long for comfort. He wasn't sorry. He knew he should be and would be soon, he knew he hadn't treated the boy as he'd have wanted to, but right now, in this very instant, he just couldn't give a damn about what he should feel and simply felt absolutely astonishing.

Selfish, his mind said.

Fuck you, he replied.

"Did I hurt you?" the older man asked, finally.

"Not much."

"Hm."

"Will I be like that?"

Urahara looked at him and his eyes became softer, his usual consciousness returning and saying that not having hurt him much was slightly worse than having not hurt him at all. But the _afterglow.... _He gave a small smile to Ichigo, which suddenly became sad as reality poured in and he realized that right now the boy had absolutely no reason to be sticking around and none to let the older man have his way with him again.

"Probably not," he answered. "_I'_m not really like this, either. I tend to lose it when.... When desire goes past a certain limit and it becomes all or nothing. The first time is like an explosion. Then … it mellows. Becomes refined. I have my own demons, Ichigo. Such as this one." And then, because he finally felt some remorse, he added, "I'm sorry for my lack of control."

Ichigo threw him a smile. "Nah, don't be. It was.... it was good. I think. Definitely not my thing, but.... Wow. So. Err. I guess I'm not a virgin anymore."

Urahara was unable to figure out that tone, it wasn't amazement, nor was it disgust or hatred or even realization. Or perhaps there was a bit of amazement, that was directed at Urahara's own outburst. The older man could remember his first time and how pleased he'd been when the woman had reacted quite wildly to him. How amazed and surprised and delighted – did Ichigo feel anything like that? He'd delighted in the power to bring Urahara to his knees by kissing. Would the satisfaction of knowing he could make him lose it compensate for the fact that it hadn't been as pleasant as it could have been, for the fact that, as Urahara realized with a pang of panic, the older man had entirely forgotten about the boy's own pleasure and hadn't made him come?

Damn it, orgasm was supposed to be a given for men.

But, judging by Ichigo's expression, it was perhaps a statement that was meant to bring out the realization with it, to make him feel his new status. And, the shopkeeper knew, it would take a bit more than that awkward first – _that hadn't even made him orgasm –_ to get the point through. But Urahara wouldn't be the one supplying those experiences.

Ah well, he thought philosophically, the boy would be fine. He'd find somebody else, realize after a very short while that the shopkeeper was a bastard and move on. He wasn't scarred for life by his experience, just bewildered, not hurt, Urahara could tell. He'd be fine.

And as for the shopkeeper.... What a fool he was, he thought. An idiot. He'd known he'd lose it and he'd definitely done it. Well, that one time would have to be enough to satisfy him. He hated the fact that they'd have to close the subject, because Ichigo wouldn't understand what he meant to apologize for now and would hate him later, when he _would_ get it.

One time wouldn't be enough, but....

Damn, better than nothing.

Thinking that he was entirely too selfish and right now too selfish to care about it, Urahara finally felt that he could, eventually, sleep that night. Ichigo was starting to drift off against him and.... well....

He was a bastard and he'd lose him.

It was all in the great scheme of things.

* * *

AN: The next chapter, in which Ichigo decides to do something the shopkeeper doesn't expect and Urahara realizes he's about to have another and very embarrassing discussion with Isshin will be posted in the near future. Hurray! :D

Please review. I love it when you do. It also makes me write with more enthusiasm!


	5. Untitled, Because I Didn't Feel Like It

Disclaimer: Still haven't bought the rights to Bleach. But I will continue trying. I have this great plan consisting of writing fanfics that are good enough to have Bleach given to me through will. Mwahahaha! (erm. no. not really.)

AN: Wow. This story had 139 unique visitors for chapter 4. This means that 139 people have read the story in its entirety. Woooow. I'm still wondering how it would be if more of you reviewed, so if you want to make me really happy, you know which button to press.

Chapter 5

Urahara was awakened by Ichigo's stirring. It was shortly after dawn, if he was to judge by the light, and way too early for him to get up. Or for the boy to get up. Or anybody to get up, for that matter. The gods had left this time on earth simply because there had to be one to generally manifest the idea of "too fucking early".

"Go back to sleep," he muttered.

"Urahara." The voice had started seriously, resonating through the room, but around the second half of his name faltered, prolonged the 'a' and faded into shyness. The man opened his eyes for more than a single moment and looked grumpily at the ceiling, waiting for the rest of that. He felt that he knew what would come. Reproach, maybe, a proof of the boy's realization that that was not the way sex was supposed to go. Or a demand that he get out of bed – his own bed, but who cared – and never return into Ichigo's life. "That.... earlier, wasn't really my thing. Being underneath and all. Ya know." There it was. The start of it.

"Being a bottom," Urahara said, hollowly.

"...Yeah."

"I was too...." the shopkeeper started his apology, but was cut off before he could say much.

"No, no. 'twas ok. Just ... eh, not my thing." Embarrassment? Why was there embarrassment in the boy's voice, of all things? Was he apologizing for something?

"Pardon?" Urahara asked, trying to figure out what was going on in Ichigo's head.

"Can I check to see what my thing would be?" Said fast, afraid – a shower of words that stopped abruptly in a tense, fearful silence. And an unseen blush was radiating freely towards the older man.

Urahara's eyes opened wider, freezing with surprise as he tried to convince his foggy brain to actually register what the meaning behind those words were – to backtrack and take a whole new trail of thought. And when he'd finally done that, he turned a very steady gaze towards the boy, seeming to try to want to laser his way through him.

"Do you want to _fuck_ _me_?" His voice sounded strained and incredulous even to himself, but his mouth articulated every word clear as bells in the summer morning.

"No need to say it like that...." Ichigo was backing up, not only in spirit, but also physically, retreating away ever so slightly as if to defend himself from whatever reaction Urahara might have. The shopkeeper blinked once and shifted ever so slightly, his muscles tensing.

"Can I see your hand?" he demanded.

"Eh?"

"Give me your hand, Ichigo."

The young man extended it. It was nice, warm, clean, soft and had distinctly longer nails than Urahara was comfortable with against some very sensitive places on his body. He held it for a second longer than necessary, then let it go. It retreated uncertainly as the young man himself tried to figure out what the other was thinking.

"The lotion is next to the bed stand." Urahara wet his lips with his tongue, feeling his mouth suddenly dry and his body pinned immobile by shock to the futon. "Spread it on yourself, don't use fingers like I did, you might hurt me with those nails – I can take it if you go slowly. But on the other hand, I can handle it if you go fast, too. So no worries."

Another pause, as the metaphorical ball reached the other side of the tennis court, where it waited to be picked up by player number 2, who eventually nudged it gingerly, seeing that his partner was tense, his face set in a very distinct, yet incomprehensible expression.

"You sure? That you can do this?"

Urahara gave him a soft smile. The boy really didn't know it, then? How much of an effect he had on him? How much, how desperately Urahara still wanted him, how one's body would follow one's heart in most matters and especially in this one, so there was little Ichigo could do to really hurt him unwillingly. Besides, there was the lotion. And he'd never really liked probing fingers. On a second thought, he'd never really liked probing anything, but, well, sacrifices, sacrifices. And his mind had already run into the gutter and took his nether region with it. The more mental images he got, the more he wanted it and the less he could keep a grin off his face or at least scold it into a charming, mysterious smile.

"I am, like yourself, a man accustomed to being stabbed, ripped and skewered. How much worse do you think you can do?" And then, unrestrained, the demon within him passed on his face again, darkening his features, expressing his true feelings on the matter. "_Just do it._"

Ichigo nodded, uncertain – was he blushing again? He picked up the lotion and used it liberally on himself, spilling some of it on the sheets – but those could be washed and frankly, in the state of mind Urahara was slipping into again, the fumbling enhanced the attraction. The young man leaned down to kiss Urahara and the older man realized that right now, Ichigo was trembling with nervousness and excitement.

"Relax," he whispered. "It's just me. No worries, right?"

Ichigo chuckled, but it wasn't a normal, amused sound. It was nervous, uncertain. "Easy for you to say, old pervert."

Urahara rose his head, searching for the boy's lips, wanting to reassure him. It was just him, nobody special. Plain old shopkeeper who totally understands if you lose it in any way – _go ahead, lose it, it will be _good, _lose it with me – _who'd lost it himself, as a matter of fact. One shouldn't be afraid to disappoint their blackmailers, he thought. Nor friends, nor mentors who _know_, who've been there, who _understand_ that you are still at the beginning. Who delight in it, actually. In seeing you struggle and find your way – in fighting, in power, in sexuality. Especially in the latter. Especially in moments like these. Having Ichigo test his prowess on him was just too brilliant. Ah, his mind was getting away from him again. He needed to cool down before he jumped the boy again and this time there was no excuse for it. This was Ichigo's moment now. Mental image, he needed a mental image.

"Stop worrying already," he urged. "You make me feel as if you intended to perform some very deviant acts upon me. And I know Mayuri-san, so deviant takes on a whole new meaning."

Good, cooling mental image. On further consideration, Urahara thought that humor wasn't, perhaps, the best way to go about it, but he was currently out of ideas to lighten the mood while toning himself down at the same time. People would never know just what sort of hero he was to control himself like this and be coherent. Damned inner demon that made him want to take the same selfish course of action as the night before. It seemed to work, though, because Ichigo gave a small smile.

"Makes me wonder what _very deviant_ things you have in mind."

"I don't know. Replacing my navel with a cigarette lighter, perhaps?" There went ten degrees of his inner heat, enough to go below boiling point. "It could come in handy, if I ever started smoking." And five more degrees.

"Tsch. You'd end up with some very burned clothes." The shopkeeper would sizzle through the bed sheets soon, not that the younger man needed to know that.

Enough talking, Urahara decided. He drew Ichigo into a kiss, surprised and delighted that he could do it without losing it again – he felt in charge. He also felt amazed and happy that it wasn't over just yet, that the illusion of the two of them was still strong, that he had this other chance to win just a slight bit of his acceptance, this other time, unexpected, entirely welcomed, even if it meant relinquishing control to a person with no experience whatsoever (problematic. He wasn't sure exactly how sensitive the area actually was. He'd mostly topped in his few male-male encounters and it was quite difficult for a woman to top in the same way in the majority of his sexual interactions. And the other males had been experienced. But, well, it couldn't be too bad. Not as bad as Yoruichi on a bad day and he _knew_ what he was talking about).

He allowed himself to be more passive, to enjoy every touch that the boy was offering, every caress, every kiss – he was eternally grateful to the inspiration of teaching him how to do it right –, every little detail. Ichigo nibbled on his neck – perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, he thought, before he realized that the younger man was in all fact attempting to give him a hickey and would quite possibly succeed at it. He went with it, ignoring the slight pain and letting the pleasure shoot through his entire body deliciously.

The thought of hickey led to the thought of Isshin, which came unbidden, and he gulped, considering how he'd have to face the man again soon enough. But as for now – enjoyment was the key word.

So enjoy he did, allowing himself to react to everything he liked in a very encouraging manner, to gasp, to tangle his hand in Ichigo's hair, to lick the younger man's neck and nibble at the closest available shoulder. He felt himself finally defeat the demanding demon and beat it away. This was controlled. Safe. He was safe. The moment he felt the other finally get over his shyness and push against him in a very suggestive manner, he tried to relax, not just the muscles he was supposed to, but his entire body. And, both to his mental and physical pleasure, he managed to do so just in time, as the boy slipped in him with a gasp.

"Ichigo-saaaaan," he moaned, instinctively leaning his head back and closing his eyes. It was alright so far, he had adjusted better than expected and there was very little discomfort and very, very much good in it.

The younger man moved, gasping in surprise and pleasure as the entirely new feeling ignited him, spreading itself from his groin through the rest of his body, too hot to bear, followed closely and strangely by a wave of coolness that flooded through him without warning, combining with the heat, nearly undoing him with the sheer strength of the sensation.

"Gods!"

He moved again, burying himself into Urahara from a movement that seemed decided by his body instead of himself, instinct kicking in and sending him into a rhythm, needing more from every part of his being, from his very core down to the marrow of his bones. He _wanted_ this, he _needed_ this, he couldn't _believe_ this as he plunged again and again, figuring it out. Urahara's hands closed around him and pulled him close down. He fell on his elbows and discovered himself kissed heatedly by a man who was thrown into his own fit of passion and who bucked beneath him, sending another delicious shiver through him. He pulled away from the lusting mouth, straightening his position, desperately needing the air to flow freely through him and sustain his flames.

"_Harder_, Ichigo-san," Urahara said between gritted teeth. "_Harder_."

The young man reacted without thought, diving again and again into him, fast, deep, with all the strength he showed on the battlefield, with all the determination he'd learned from the very man trembling under him. Urahara reached low with a hand, masturbating in time with the thrusts to bring himself to his own completion, knowing the other wouldn't last long – and, indeed, soon enough Ichigo lost himself in the pleasure and his movements became erratic, which only seemed to please Urahara more, the younger man's entire body seeming to himself to fade into another world, to pulse, his heart beat everywhere from toes to ears and he could've sworn he had light flowing through his veins. He cried because he couldn't contain it anymore, couldn't hold it back, because he felt he would die from this inner explosion if he didn't cry – and he let himself be blown away, body forgotten to spasm of its own devices as the man inside it lost himself for what seemed like a moment of eternity.

He heard an uninterpretable exclamation of "Ichigo-sama" and collapsed on top of Urahara, who removed his whitened hand from his loins and held Ichigo tight, kissing his shoulder carelessly, petting his hair with his clean hand and murmuring god knew what, because it made no sense to Ichigo right then, syllables rolling by him as he panted.

"Whoa," he mumbled finally, rolling off the other man. "Whoa."

"You're so beautiful," Urahara said and the younger man finally noticed that the shopkeeper's hand had sperm dripping from it on the sheet. "So fucking beautiful and you don't even know it."

The redhead's eyes fixed on the dirty fingers with a sort of afterglow mindless fascination as he slowly and not very willingly regained his breath and his usual perceptions. He couldn't tear his gaze away even when he realized the older man had brought himself to completion and that he was now staring at Ichigo. And when he found he actually could look away, he didn't feel much like doing it, staring into a space somewhere beyond Urahara's body and trying to get himself together.

And finally, there was silence, their chests rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Outside somewhere a bird was chirping and a few cars were passing. The sunlight was lazily streaming in through the window, warm, playful, fresh. Ichigo wondered what had changed, whether anything had changed and came to the logical conclusion that nothing was different and the instinctive conclusion that everything was. What had altered? What now?

His philosophical thoughts faded away to a nagging question that demanded his attention and that started bugging him the moment he actually thought about it.

"What's up with you?" he asked the shopkeeper, who looked down at his hand and started wiping it on the sheet.

"Eh?"

"You called me Ichigo-san."

"Errr...."

"And then Ichigo-sama, just at the end. Where the hell did that come from?"

"Ahahaha...."

Urahara laughed nervously, finishing with the hand cleaning and trying to dispel a blush that was threatening to creep up and which actually climbed up his neck and started taking over his cheeks. His damned mouth had gotten away from him without permission and he hadn't even realized it. He didn't particularly want to explain it to the young man and would have preferred it if that little point had dropped off the face of the earth as soon as it came back. What to say, what to say....

"You're really perverted, geta-boushi," Ichigo commented. The older man didn't know how to interpret the other's tone. It wasn't deprecating, it wasn't ironic, it wasn't annoyed or scared. It sounded more like a question or a surprised demand for confirmation.

"It's a reflex," Urahara explained slowly. "I use kun, chan, san, sama automatically, reflexively. I stopped trying to get rid of them awhile ago, when I realized that it felt difficult not to use them and people felt pushed away if I slipped. I use sama for those I admire very intently at a time. That is it, Ichigo. Nothing very special or different about it except the fact that most people think about it and I do it automatically."

Urahara waited for the reaction. He felt slightly embarrassed – or more than slightly. It was just something that took over his person – another thing that did so, but a mostly harmless one. Some people, like Yoruichi, enjoyed it. Most just gaped and wondered. Soon enough, Ichigo asked the question he had really been hoping to avoid.

"So... Ichigo-_sama_, eh?"

"It's amazing what you think about people when you sleep with them," the shopkeeper grinned. The grin was a defense. "Qu-i-te amazing, Ichigo. _Quite_." He'd be damned if he'd have to call the young man with the over-the-top suffix from now on. And he'd have to watch his mouth in the future.

* * *

It had been a long day, Urahara decided. And he had a feeling it would be even longer. He'd sent the boys to Las Noches, then soon enough the runaway Renji and Rukia, there was the copy of Karakura town that he still had to finish the details of, then the two gigai for the two captains, then.... He was sure there was a _then_.

He was worried about all of them. They were confident, but confidence wasn't invincibility. Ah, well, soon there would be people to the rescue and none of them were weaklings. He'd just have to wait, hope, _trust_ and see.

There had been a smile on Ichigo's face before leaving and a notable lack of frown. He'd seemed pleased, a cat that got the cream, a boy discovering he was actually a man, a new no-longer-virgin that couldn't keep his jubilation away. Urahara had been afraid that people would get it – in fact, Ishida had commented on the other's obvious high spirits, to which the young man had replied, without faltering, that he was damned happy that they were finally doing _something_ and that he was perfectly sure that they'd get back Orihime and kick stuck-up Espada ass while they were at it.

Now Urahara was having trouble decoding whether it had been a planned escape into a safe, likely topic or whether Ichigo had had exactly that on his mind. He knew the sex had helped the mood and wondered if, by any chance, the fact that it had been himself had also done so, or if he was forgettable in the grand scheme of things.

He wanted it to be the first. He was almost sure it was the second.

He needed something to do that was easy enough to take care of when his mind wasn't at its best and that would still absorb him. So he decided to work on the gigai and drop a note to Mayuri, skillfully throwing all the work concerning Karakura at the other man. Urahara declared himself to be "quite busy" and the mad scientist could use some time off his newest research concerning how to best insert a lighter into somebody's navel (he hadn't been kidding when he'd told Ichigo about that).

The shopkeeper entered his small personal laboratory and thought, again, how useful it was that most people never stopped to consider the details of some things – such as how Urahara had managed to open a gate to Hueco Mundo when others had been unable to figure out where to even start researching it from, why Ururu was so weird and where her and Jinta had sprouted from, why he wasn't under arrest for subjecting them to child labor and, most of all, the details of how gigai were made.

Sure, he could tell everybody about the precise art of the reiatsu and matter blending and about how one could, with a recent reiatsu signature, get a lot of information about a person's body. They'd probably be bored half-way through and if they listened until the end, a bit disturbed about how much one could find out about them from even a vague trace they left behind, but in all actuality, it was the very physical work that could be the most distressing. Urahara made the gigai look exactly like their originals, even to the last mole and tattoo. This was both a sign of mastery and a way to dodge questions – if the replicas were exact, no questions about the process were asked, all of them assuming that the similarity was normal and had nothing to do with the builder of the body.

Well, it did. It meant that Urahara put the organs inside by hand, then adjusted them with reiatsu. It meant that he touched every bit of their bodies and got to know them disturbingly better than their owners. So he knew about the exact health trouble Ukitake had and why Unohana couldn't heal him. He knew that Zaraki had a rotten tooth somewhere in the back of his mouth. And he wondered how the eleventh squad captain was liked by women, seeing that he was both a brute in general and had a cock that seemed too large for comfort. He'd never ask – that would be both an intrusion and a proof of intrusion.

He speculated, however, that the very raw energy and desire to fight had something to do with redirecting his sexual energy towards other manner of release. That would explain a lot.

As he adjusted the final details of the gigai, he heard the bells announcing somebody entering the shop go off – he had a mechanism running throughout his entire house ringing bells when somebody came in through the door – and frowned. He was closed for the day, so it had to be either an acquaintance or a very unlucky thief.

He washed his hands – unnecessary, but after feeling people for about an hour, one needs a gesture to be officially done with the job – then went to see who the visitor was. And there, just wandering about looking for him, was Isshin. Urahara's heart and stomach sank so fast he was sure he dropping off the Everest with them.

"Isshin-san," he greeted. "What brings you here?"

"Urahara," said the man, looking undecided between hatred, loathing, annoyance, petulance and indecision. The shopkeeper could only marvel at his expressiveness. How could people make themselves look so many things at the same time? It was a trick he had yet to learn. "Let's _talk_."

"Kitchen, then," the blond nodded. "Let's talk."

Soon enough, they were sitting at the table there, having tea. The offering of beverage was less of a hospitable gesture and more of a charitable gift that the shopkeeper had made to both Isshin and himself in order to have something to occupy their hands with, stare into and hide behind. Long live tea.

"So, last night, you...." Isshin began, not knowing exactly how to finish.

"Yes."

"How was it?"

"Are you honestly expecting me to answer that?"

Isshin's face darkened, as Urahara waited nervously, while pretending he was calm, for the answer. Finally, the older Kurosaki said, "Yes. I am expecting you to answer honestly." Twist of phrase under duress. Wit takes over, the shopkeeper realized. When you can't use anything else, you try to be smart. Ichigo's father was slightly desperate and needed something over his old friend, even a feeble attempt at mental superiority.

"It was good for both of us, I guess. I assure you that your son is not traumatized for life by the events. In all actuality, he seemed quite happy about the experience."

Two could play this game, Urahara decided. He wasn't comfortable about offering details, but considering that this was _Isshin_ and they were talking about _Ichigo_, he assumed that the other man didn't want too many graphic descriptions. In fact, there was a great chance of him backing away if the threat of Urahara's words becoming too graphic was dangled in front of him. It was worth a try, if one had the balls to go through with it. And the shopkeeper fancied he did.

"Happy about it?... Does he really swing that way?"

"Ah, no, not really. He wasn't too bothered about my gender, in the end, but our loins know not what our minds think, so it might have been just the lust talking."

"Still, if he enjoyed.... there are preferences which.... Undeniably...."

"Oh, he was pretty much uncertain about that part of it. He said it really wasn't his thing. It was this morning when he woke me up and manifested topping desires and found that I was willing to go along that he found himself in his element."

"Wha-?"

"Sure, he had no experience, but I can say that he shows _remarkable_ promise. Why, the moment he climbed on top of me and applied the lotion on himself, you should have seen that lust in his eyes and, well, the...." Running out of non-telling ideas, Urahara wondered how much he could really babble about the subject. "Well, the actual moment when he took...."

"Oy! Stop. I don't want to know."

Urahara gave his old friend a half-smile. He could have given the man a full-blown laughter, that face was worth every penny and then half a pound extra.

"So, he's alright and not homosexual. That's all I wanted to know."

"Are you sure, Isshin-san? I can give you many details to satisfy your curiosity. Why, for example...."

"Yes, I'm fine. I should be off now. Goodbye."

When the older Kurosaki was out of sight, out of hearing and entirely out of the shop and shop area, Urahara burst out laughing, much too pleased with himself and his insane dodging abilities. When he was finally getting over his merriment, he cheerfully tapped his lips with his fingers and said to himself, "Blow them away with details, Kisuke no Kuchi! Ban-kai!" And then he wondered how close to insanity treating "Kisuke's Mouth" as a zanpakutou placed him. Honestly, though, who cared? Ichigo wasn't the only one who had a reason to be cheerful today. Isshin's visit had reminded him much too pleasantly of that.

His laughter was cut short, however, when the bells announcing the opening of the door resounded again and a reiatsu he knew slightly too well made itself known. Two people. Two people who would now prove whether his corruption of the boy had helped with the official unofficial plan to save him or not. They weren't very important in themselves - but what they represented sent a jolt of fear through Urahara's body.

His house suddenly felt small, constrictive, much too open to all the events that seemed to fill it nowadays. It gained in his mind the value of an axis mundi - an axis of the world around which spun too many things at once. The seduction was done and its results would be personal, his own to bask in or bemoan. Isshin was sent away, still his friend, even if things were strained. The copying of Karakura was well taken care of. But this - so many risks.

Hoping he had played his cards right so far and would continue to play and win like an ultimate poker specialist, Urahara grabbed his fan and went away to welcome his unwelcomed visitors.

* * *

AN: Done for now! The next chapter, in which Kisuke deals with unforeseen consequences, will be posted in the near future. Don't forget to review! Reviews are the food of fanfic authors! Feed me!


	6. Soul Society's Screaming Stupidity

**Disclaimer:** Don't own.

**Important AN**: This chapter has a dark ending, but it isn't very graphic. I thought you should know about that.

**Review-related AN**: Hey, guys! There are some wonderful people out there who reviewed this story and made me feel all warm inside, but who either don't have accounts on ff, or didn't sign in. This means I can't thank them or reply to anything they say anywhere but here. (I _know_ ff doesn't agree with review replies here, but there's really no other way). As for you less anonymous reviewers, I'll reply to you the official way :D

Thanks, **Lanen!** Your second review made me feel that I was actually managing to do what I had been aiming to do.

Thank you, **Subaru!** I love reading your comments. As for the grammar/spelling which you mentioned at one point, I'm really happy nobody gets to see the first draft of the chapters, in which I have a ton of weird phrasings, not-quite-Freudian slips and disappearing words which I only meant to write but never did. And I try to update as fast as I can, but the exams in university are quite a nuisance in that direction. Still, I want to resurrect the cat :D

Thanks, **Rabid Fangirl21!** No problem about the anon-ness, I completely understand.

Also thanks to **A Reviewer** and **Archer2!**

Chapter 6: Soul Society's Screaming Stupidity

(also known as How Distant Past Affects the Present)

Chojiro Sasakibe and Kuchiki Aaoyama. The unmemorable and the beast, a pair of frustrated individuals that didn't roam Soul Society as much as lurk around it. Neither of them was a hero, or a distinctly superior sort of being, but they thought themselves to be the very center of impressive stories – and that could be dangerous.

Urahara's mind was allegorically like a great computer in which the folders are neatly stacked and the search function works perfectly. Very little was lost that could eventually become of use. And these two men had been filed long ago as being potentially troublesome, even if most of the time they were nowhere near the big picture of events.

The first of the two was the white-haired, twirly-mustached elegant snob that had been given the position of 1st division vice captain. Chojiro-fukutaichou. Not a very strong man, he had never been one, but he had gotten into his position through great sucking up around Yamamoto and around other nobles. Considering that while his strength was not spectacular, it still existed, the role had been given to him easily. In matter of fact, very few people wanted to be close to Yamamoto. The old man was only second to Mayuri in his ability to make his subordinates uneasy. And that was because Mayuri was actually a freak to his deepest core. Chojiro would be one of the very few to bask in his position.

He was at vice-captain level, but he wasn't one of the best vice-captains out there. And he wasn't exceedingly intelligent, either, although nobody could accuse him of stupidity. He was simply too concerned with petty things to be a bother. In other words, he was not a threat to Urahara, either strength-wise, or mind-wise.

Kuchiki Aaoyama was a different story and Urahara found, inside his head, that he would have to be careful to add a suffix to his name. To the right name. Actually call him Kuchiki, even if his mind protested against connecting him with the nobler members of that distinguished family. While his distant cousin Byakuya held more power both in the family and as a shinigami, Aaoyama was far more ruthless. And far less concerned with the noble, upstanding values that Byakuya either held sacred, or dear, or at least was aware of. The head of the family was basically a stuck up, closet nice person. Aaoyama was a stuck up, closet beast. They resembled each other vaguely, both physically, the frame and the soft lines being genetic, and in manner, having been taught manners by the same codes.

Aaoyama was nobility. He was strong. He was intelligent. And he was also a savage beast of a man that nobody wanted in their hair, if at all possible. So, they had managed to convince him that what he actually wanted was to roam in places other than Seireitei, fight hollows and have all the blood, drink and women he wanted away from the eyes of his family, superiors and comrades. They had learned how to keep him around only for the dirty business.

Yeah, his presence was bad news, if it hadn't been obvious already. Urahara wondered whether Byakuya knew that his undignified relation was here, in the ex-captain's shop, staring at the merchandise and acting much more stuck up than he had a right to.

"Would you like something to eat? Or sweets perhaps?" Urahara suggested. When in doubt, play the perfect host. He too knew how to juggle appearances, how to hold an inexistent fan in front of his features, to control any and all situations by simply appearing to be in control.

"No, thank you," Chojiro replied. "We are here to discuss one Kurosaki Ichigo."

"Yeeees, I've heard something like that," Urahara replied, smiling with all his charm. "Delightful young man, isn't he?"

"The reassembled Central 46 have decided that he is a danger to Soul Society and has to be retrieved."

This was it, then. _Retrieved_.The final decision that nobody in Soul Society had any right to veto. It was exactly as predicted by Urahara and dreaded by many others. The Vizard had been not exactly chased for 100 years, their existence disregarded or not according to some inner machinations of Central 46 that nobody actually understood. But they knew how to hide themselves and were considered to be a marginal threat because they stayed out of the way and most of the time they pretended they didn't exist. Ichigo, on the other hand, had planted himself straight in the center of Soul Society, broke down every rule and even though Byakuya had tried to warn him in his unique style that one couldn't break the law and expect to get away with it, always believed that consequences would be forgotten because he was a "good guy".

Well, wrong, Ichigo. Soul Society is not ruled by the shinigami who admire you, nor by the captains who know you and respect you, but by a few handfuls of bureaucrats from noble families who are very good at searching the archives for precedents. In other words, Ichigo, you're in the cold hands of lawyers.

Of course, the captains had argued in Ichigo's favor – his motivation for the intrusion and subsequent alliance with the shinigami, they had said, excused the rashness of youth and a rather unfortunate first meeting, in which the young man had, after all, been proved to be right.

The Central 46 had pointed out that Kurosaki was not officially part of their world, that he didn't follow their laws and held no respect for their authority. Also, his power grew exponentially. If he kept this rate – he couldn't, the captains argued, there was only so far one could go. Objection overruled, had said Central 46. Just because a thing hasn't happened before doesn't mean it can't start happening now – then soon enough, if he went bad in the head, they wouldn't be able to stop him from doing serious damage.

But he was fighting against Aizen, the captains protested. He was on their side. He was fighting to protect the world and that was the same goal Soul Society! And they had been told that maybe the human would find it more convenient to ally himself with the enemy soon enough.

...And so on and so forth. But what it all came down to was the Central 46 fearing Ichigo's power. They had no sway over him, they could not control or punish him. Thus, he needed to be brought down. It isn't the best logic in the world, Urahara thought, but it is the logic of _fear_. It has its own motivations and will not be swayed by arguments, since it is rooted deep within a heart. Ichigo did have defenders, many of them, all unable to act as they would like, since to revolt against the higher-ups would create a rift they couldn't afford in their own world. It had fallen on Urahara to protect the boy, because he was an outsider.

"Well," he said with a shrug. "You can't retrieve him now."

"Why not?" growled Chojiro. "Are _you_ going to stop us? Are you going to hide him from us?"

Yes, thought Urahara. He was. Because, when it all came down to his own motivations, he would not let them take a beautiful, free, wild creature and throw it at the mix of lawyers, judges and parliamentarians. "Me?" he asked, a picture of innocence and surprise. "Why, please, go after him, if you like, although it might be difficult. He is in Hueco Mundo – I can open a gate momentarily." Ironically enough, the hollow world was starting to feel like a saner place than Soul Society.

"Hueco Mundo?" Aaoyama said, slowly, darkly, in what seemed to be an attempt to copy Byakuya. He wasn't as good at capturing the tone of calm, nobility and despise that the leader of the family had, but one could feel that he was trying to do it. He was also accidentally letting out a tiny twinge of the inner brute – it was almost frightening. "What is he doing there?"

"Saving a friend," Urahara said, with a smile. "And fighting against Aizen and the Espada."

"Ah? Really?"

"Yes. He's quite the one for protecting his friends. And many people in Soul Society are his friends."

"What are you saying, Urahara Kisuke?" The same damned, Byakuya-imitating tone that didn't suit the person using it.

"That there is no reason to take him away."

"Are _you_ going to protect him?"

Urahara was beaming so much he could become a light bulb. The pressure was increasing his annoying lip raising particularities. "Me? No. But I have a very special sort of status in Soul Society, you see."

"You?" Chojiro seemed quite surprised, but Aaoyama's eyes narrowed menacingly. He knew the story. Not all of it, but enough to get where this was going.

"Why, yes," Urahara said, trying to show much more amusement than he actually felt. He didn't feel any, to be honest. Any at all. "I have special immunity from Soul Society, for me and...."

"Special immunity?" Chojiro interrupted, amazed. Newbie. They jump in and never wonder why everything is as it is.

"Yes. Did you never wonder? An amazingly humble and sexy shopkeeper like me, stuck in the real world selling sweets and making gigai? Having a great relationship with Soul Society while being banned from it?"

"Well...."

"Obviously not. I have immunity granted by the king. And in return, I offered to work, at my own leisure, for Soul Society. If you don't believe me, you can check. It's written down under the heading of decrees for 83 years ago and since there's only one decree for that year, or for that decade, more precisely, I'm sure you can find it easily."

There was a pause, while the two stared at him. Aaoyama knew about that little piece of majestic grace that had once been poured over the shopkeeper's head, but it was taking him awhile to put two and two together.

"As I was saying," Urahara continued. "I have special immunity. For me and, this is nearly an exact quote, for any lover I may have. Which includes Kurosaki Ichigo."

He smiled ever so slightly at the expressions that landed on their faces and remained there. There's nothing like making your sleeves shoot aces, he thought. Chojiro hadn't know that the bloody king of bloody Soul Society had ever met Urahara. And Aaoyama had focused on the point and caught the shopkeeper's trick. He moved fast between disbelief, shock, disgust and fury. Now, wasn't life wonderful? Something like that, so long ago. Who'd have guessed at the time what he'd be using the decree for?

* * *

_84_ _years prior_

Heavy snow somewhere in a godforsaken area a bit norther than north in Russia. It wasn't _snowing_ heavily, but the snow _was_ heavy, as it tends to be when you've made yourself a shelter two meters under the snow surface and miscalculated the width of supporting beams and heaviness of snow and get it all to collapse on you for the fourth time. In fact, if there had been only one supporting pillar and an empty room to the shelter, he'd have been squished dead by then, but luckily the furniture was holding most of the pressure of the collapsed ceiling off him and he had enough air to breathe.

Urahara regretted – again – that Tessai was with the Vizard and not with himself. He could've used another hand, a kidou expert's hand, to both get out and rebuild. But he was pretty decent with all sorts of things and he rather hoped that the saying "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" worked in a very physical sense, too. He could use some muscles.

Oh, it didn't work that way?... too bad.

He eventually surfaced. He didn't surface victoriously or shamefully or gracefully or anything of the sort, because all those feelings would have required him either being much more self-conscious than he actually was, or to have some potential audience, which he didn't believe was possible to have. In fact, if he surfaced in any particularly way, it was with some tiredness, some boredom (digging through two meters of snow takes a lot more effort and time than one would initially think), some bruises and quite a lot of determination to find better pillars from then on. After the first three miscalculations, he'd been entirely certain that this time he'd gotten rid of the trouble. Apparently not. And his experiments seemed wrong, too. Maybe there was something wrong with his basic arithmetic skills and he should recheck to see whether indeed 256 multiplied by 8 was indeed 2048 and things like that. Repetitive addition to check the basic operations. Yeah. Boring as hell, but maybe it was worth a shot.

It was when he was finally on top of all the snow that he noticed that he did, actually, have audience, in the shape of what at first sight appeared to be a young man of surprisingly well-tailored and out-of-context clothes which would have been much more suited for an autumn day in Germany than a winter day in Siberia, and who, at second sight, revealed itself to be a shinigami with the aforementioned description.

"Hello," Urahara said, politely, wondering how on earth he didn't freeze to death in that short, thin, brown, _autumn_ coat and the not very thick looking black pants. His breath didn't show, either. Maybe it was a reiatsu thing. It _had_ to be a reiatsu thing.

"Hello," the other man replied, also politely.

A pause, as they measured each other from head to foot and tried to understand what the other was doing there and how they'd come to such a godforsaken piece of land in the middle of the iciest hell on earth. No conclusions were reached on either side, although Urahara thought that, truth be told, the other shinigami was possibly more confused than himself. He hadn't just popped up out of nowhere. He'd popped up from underground – well, undersnow. It wasn't a normal sight even in populated areas. The Christians might believe that man was made from mud, but they generally knew that the person who bore them was actually their mother and one didn't sprout fully grown from random places.

"Come here often?" Urahara ventured in a conversational tone. Possibly in the same way in which somebody had once said, _Dr. Livingstone, I presume_.

"Not really," the other man answered. "I rather hope there is or used to be something underground there, because otherwise that thing you just did is very, very frightening."

"Yes," Urahara answered. "There's a half-collapsed shelter. A supporting beam gave up." He paused before adding, "again."

"You've been buried alive under the white freezing menace before?"

"Three times."

"Ah. Would it help to know that there was some strange kidou in the area just before the rustle?"

"Yes," Urahara let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "I thought it was just my bad calculations and was about to re-check my entire multiplication system."

"I see."

The young man had something about him that put Urahara in mind of repressed reiatsu. This was quite possibly the case – strong people didn't go around advertising their strength, tending to tone it down, pretty much like he did himself. This man seemed to be quite good at it, which meant he was strong. But he couldn't remember ever having seen him before, or heard of anybody with his description. He guessed that in 20 years since he'd been gone there had been time enough for new genii to spring unbeknown to him, or for old shinigami to return to Soul Society – or maybe not. The clothes said that he didn't currently work for the Seireitei. And that he lacked common sense, too, or at least wasn't affected by the cold. They seemed to let through every breeze, never mind the chilling mother of all cutting winds of Siberia, which seemed to start blowing just about now. So it had to be reiatsu. No high-level shinigami had ever died of natural frostbite.

"Nice to meet you. My name is Urahara Kisuke," he introduced himself belatedly. The other smiled and made a half-bow that seemed to parody formality.

"Nice to meet you, too. I am Shincho Akio. So, what is it that you are doing here, Urahara-san? It is an unusual spot for a man to be in. Especially when one cannot help but remember some rumors about an Urahara having been a Captain of the Gotei-13 some 20 years ago and having run away?"

Ah, the blond thought. So his story was well-known enough. But since the other was all smiles and charm and warmth – not that that was always a good sign –, he retorted with the same carefree attitude.

"Rebuilding a laboratory. What else? And what about you, Shincho-san?"

"Tying some loose ends," came the vague reply that didn't even pretend to be informative. "Have you ever heard of Kuchiki Byakuya and Kuchiki Aaoyama?"

"Yes. Shihouin Yoruichi speaks of them often. But I've only ever seen the latter rarely."

"Hmm. Well. I had been hoping to hear news of the Kuchiki family and of the feud between these two cousins in particular."

"I'm sorry. I don't know much. It isn't something they talk much with strangers."

"I see. May I help you with your laboratory, then, in exchange for a place to stay the night? I don't feel like sleeping on the snow."

"Oh, please, do stay. But you don't need to help."

"No, please, let me."

They spent awhile searching for a tree decent enough to make a pillar, then dragged it to the remarkably non-harmed entrance to the laboratory and put everything back in place. They kicked it off instantly, Urahara deciding that the other man was just the sort of brother he'd never had but always wished to. He secretly delighted in the things they had in common, in the way they understood what the other was saying without too many explanations, in the way they caught each other's ideas before they had even been formulated completely. He showed Shincho around his laboratory/home, introduced him to his less secret research, such as the gigai, or the alarm that monitored an enclosure and reacted differently depending whether the one who came by was a man, a simple spirit, a hollow or a shinigami, with an extra option for "other". They pointedly ignored the questions that they didn't like and steered conversations a long way away from certain topics.

They had a cup of tea later and found themselves talking about intimate non-secrets, such as previous aspirations that they'd laugh away now and likes and dislikes of food types – they found both really liked squid and truly disliked natou. And Urahara promised to buy Shincho some baklava on the first occasion. After a bit more tea and some sake that the blond pulled out, they talked about books, science, calligraphy. Even more spirit later, about their sex lives. Mind you, Urahara had wanted to complain to anybody for a long time now that his Yoruichi, his wonderful Yoruichi, was still in Soul Society while he was all alone in the real world, only getting visits from her every once in awhile. He said he felt a bit deprived, well, a lot deprived, it had been awhile and he was a scientist, but also a man, unlike the new captain of his old division, and he had some desires. By the way, let's say he was a bit drunk to ask this, so please ignore the question if it is disliked, which way did the honorable guest swing, because Urahara swung both ways?

The guest swung towards women only and wasn't too inclined to try anything new, but thank you for the offer, it was taken as a compliment and he hoped the honorable host wouldn't be too disappointed, nor too embarrassed for being refused.

The host had no problem with being refused, just a bit disappointed, really, since the honorable guest was quite a good looking man and an interesting one. Perhaps the honorable guest wouldn't mind much if he checked his orientations again?

And how, pray, would the guest do that? He was quite certain these things were felt, not checked.

Well a kiss, at least, from the humble host who would most obligingly try to please, if the honorable guest was willing?....

The guest didn't really think so.

The host apologized for his insistence and promised not to insist any further.

The guest thought there wasn't much to apologize about, since this was a compliment of sorts, as mentioned above. He was quite flattered, even if he didn't wish to reciprocate.

The humble host suddenly didn't want to mention this, especially in the context, but he only had one bedroom. Of course, the honorable guest could take it and the humble host would sleep in the laboratory, but could the honorable guest not walk around during the night? It would bother the host's sleep, if he was sleeping, and if he weren't, he'd be interrupting the host from his.... actions. Which didn't need to be research and could be quite embarrassing, if the honorable guest knew what he meant.

The guest quite understood and would of course keep to the bedroom until morning, ignoring everything but sleep.

The host thanked him and apologized profoundly for the inconvenience.

In other words, they'd become something akin to frie--. Well, something like nearly friends. Which didn't mean that Urahara didn't set up the alarm to tell him if the guest got out of the bedroom, which he shouldn't, not only because he'd promised, but because the blond had sealed the door hard enough so that he'd be awakened before the man could strike. Just in case. Having a drink or several together? Yes. Buddies? Yes. Trust?... Much more difficult than that. It was nothing personal. Not really. Just the healthy dose of paranoia of somebody who was hunted down by Soul Society. It would turn out later that the guest had seen the obvious Bakudou and it had amused him even as he set up his own defenses on the inside of the room. And they both fortified the ceiling as an afterthought.

The next morning, neither of them complained of a hangover. It didn't mean that they didn't have one, but that they didn't complain or let it show. They were both slightly too proud for that.

Shincho left at some point during the morning, when Urahara was still waking up, and returned at twenty seven past four pm, an hour that stuck to Urahara's mind because he was monitoring phases for a device that would allow one to slip into a slightly parallel dimension and he kept an eye on the clock both for the data he needed and so as not to lose himself in work and accidentally show Shincho what the man didn't need to know.

When the man returned, however, he had a huge grin on his face and he jumped to hug Urahara in such a sudden manner that the blond wondered if his embarrassing proposition from the night before had been reconsidered.

"Space experiments?" Shincho asked, thrilled. "Space? Brilliant. Would I be right in assuming that sometimes you try to create a fluctuation in space and nothing happens?"

"Yes," Urahara answered, bewildered, trying to figure out what was going on and where he stood.

"Well, that's because you create the fluctuation elsewhere. It's also why the bloody ceiling falls so often."

That explained a lot, Urahara thought. He threw the man another look which obviously asked how much he knew about the subject, what had given him away, what was going wrong and, on a not unimportant side-note, why was Shincho so ... huggy … all of a sudden.

"I'm here, and when I say here, I mean Siberia, because of the space fluctuation," the man explained. "I thought it was natural phenomena. But it turns out it was you and your attempts to do … whatever you are attempting to do. I'm guessing, however, that you didn't know you were causing a lot of strangeness around, since this place might be some sort of ground 0, where very few effects happen. Like with a tornado, it spins around a point, but the middle is still. Same here, except you are messing things up in a sphere. I saw it now, when I knew the point you were directly under. The ground, the air, everything is messed up on a small patch for a short time, sometimes the blink of an eye, at other times a minute or more. I'm guessing this is you."

Urahara stared, then went through his calculus in his head again, fitted it with the newly received data and could only nod, finally. "I guess I'll have to recalibrate," he said. "Thanks for the tip."

"Baka." Shincho turned away and stretched. "Actually, it wasn't the space thing on its own. I'm here to hunt down a man who was interested in this same phenomena. He is attempting to.... Well, find a way to create gates between this world and Hueco Mundo. Or maybe any world and any other world. It would be better if he didn't do this, you understand. He is not the sort of person you would like to wield such power. Or any power at all, for that matter."

"Who is he?"

"Never you mind, Urahara-san. This is a very empty sort of place. If you see anybody at all, there's a great chance that it would be him. Just... step away, if that happens. And tell me about it. Don't fight."

"Hmm," Urahara said, noncommittally. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that. Is he somebody that should worry me in the case of an attack? Should I fear him? Is it any of the Kuchikis, since you asked me about them?"

Shincho pondered for awhile and Urahara realized that the actual question the man was asking himself was what information he could give away and what information he could not. And he also had a shock to understand that he didn't actually care about whatever politics there was involved, or the man's actual identity, so he rephrased the question to better suit his needs.

"Answer me whatever you like, Shincho-san, but your answer had better not get me murdered."

The other man's face lightened in a great, amused smile.

"Well, if that's the way you put it, Urahara-san. I'm not entirely sure whether it is Kuchiki Aaoyama I am here after. Maybe it is him. Or maybe he works for another individual. Or maybe this other individual works for Kuchiki and I might run across him. Or both of them could work for a third entity and if not, all three of them could work alone, but regardless of which of them it turns out is here, they're not somebody I like."

Urahara's eyes glazed for a second as he tried to figure out whether the unnamed people were somebody in particular or theoretical possibilities. "Ah. I think I see. One of two or maybe three dangerous people of unknown abilities."

"Yes."

"I shall take good care of myself, then."

"That is precisely what I was advising."

And with that, they settled for something to eat and drink. After the meal, Shincho left and Urahara continued his work on the space fluctuation devices – in a theoretical manner. To figure out what had gone wrong. He wouldn't experiment anything until he figured something out. It would be useless, reckless and might bring more trouble than it was worth, if there were disturbing individuals coming here.

As things usually go, he didn't realize at the time that this would soon become a life altering period, changing his existence in many ways and having ramifications the likes of which he'd never have anticipated, such as sleeping with the object of his desires in a perfectly altruistic-seeming sort of way. In fact, he had no idea it would bring him close to Soul Society again, or in contact with the Spirit King, or a very reliable and powerful ally, or on the bad side of Kuchiki Aaoyama.

Yes, that bad side of Kuchiki Aaoyama would prove to be a goddamn bitch.

* * *

Aaoyama and Chojiro were watching videos in Urahara's lab. Surveillance camera videos. The shopkeeper wished, once again, that it would all be less embarrassing, less personal. That he'd at least have taken the gigai away or covered them, because they looked like two sleeping naked men lying on the table and there was only so much of that sort of thing that he could handle right now.

He posed in his usual nonchalance as he skipped through the video of himself on top of Ichigo, his stomach clenching as he watched himself just burrowing himself mercilessly on the boy. They looked so small from here, so insignificant, their bodies almost funny in their movements, a dark irony of the tumult of feelings that had swept through him. There was no sheet draped carelessly over them, as there would have been had this been Hollywood, and every inch of their skin was visible as they panted and grunted and he finally climaxed. He passionately hated things like taping oneself during sex. What you got was the mechanics, the silly bobbing of an ass in quick movements, nothing of the tumult, of the waves, of the bloody sea of pleasure one could drown in, nothing of the feelings that made you feel on top of the world, that made you float, took you to pieces, put you back again.

It was still arousing, he supposed. But incorrect. What you see, with sex, is not what you get. The best part is invisible.

He showed them the one with Ichigo on top, too, so there could be no doubt whatsoever in their minds that he was in a relationship with the boy, that it wasn't a one time thing, that it had been going on for awhile. They couldn't hear his encouraging mutters to the younger man, but all three of them heard his suffixed moans that almost, almost got a blush from their owner.

When it came to the "Ichigo-sama", Aaoyama actually laughed.

"Got a fetish for words, do you, Urahara-_kun_?"

"Might be," the shopkeeper replied with one of his stock smiles. He hated them. He hated this. With his entire heart. This was his – and Ichigo's. Nobody else's. But it was proof – enough of it to save the younger man's life, probably.

"So that means that both you and the kid must not be harmed, by decree of the Spirit King," Aaoyama said.

"Something like that, yes."

"Specific wording? I'm sure you've been harmed since then, intentionally or not."

"Searching for a loophole, Kuchiki-san?"

"What if I am?"

"There are no loopholes. I have immunity."

"Does it apply to bakudou?"

Urahara forced himself not to react as a binding spell was placed upon him. They wouldn't harm him. They couldn't harm him – they would risk the king's wrath and then they'd really be in a bind. So he'd just wait until they left. Maybe they'd just stare at him and do nothing, or maybe they'd beat him up a little. Well, he could stand that. And then sue their asses like no tomorrow for violence against a person who is supposed to be immune.

"Harm, eh?" muttered Aaoyama. "Well, from what we've seen, you have certain.... special sexual preferences, right? I'd never have thought it of you, Urahara. I'd always thought of you as Shihouin Yoruichi's man. Liked getting your ass split, did you?"

The shopkeeper ignored the wording and shrugged as much as he could against the reiatsu ropes. "I allow myself to choose. Sometimes it's women, at other times it's men."

"So you don't consider that the kiddie _harmed _you, eh?" laughed Aaoyama. "You enjoyed it. Well, tell you what, you little bugger. You beat the system there, but just for a tiny little bit. And do you know why? Because we'll come back and do something about it. Actually, no. We'll do something about it now. Teach you to think yourself smart around Soul Society. And we'll also do something about it later, so don't think you're getting away with it."

Urahara watched him with a hint of interest and not too much fear. Beating up. He could, as he'd mentioned, handle that.

It was when the man's hands went for his own clothes that he suddenly understood that his position was amazingly vulnerable. He looked closer and saw the tell-tale signs reminding him that he had miscalculated by considering Aaoyama to be sane. There was a _look _in his eyes and Urahara had the sinking feeling that the video had done more than just prove a point: it had aroused. Chojiro was straight, but Aaoyama, like himself, swung both ways. Hell, Aaoyama would probably swing towards anything that moved. He should have thought of that. But he _hadn't_.

"What are you doing?" Chojiro asked. He looked caught between confusion and horror, hoping that this wasn't going to be what it seemed to be pointing at.

"If you don't like it, get out, Chojiro," Aaoyama said.

"Are you _mad_?!"

"Are you trying to _stop_ me, _vice-captain_?"

Urahara looked between the two of them and knew. Knew that Aaoyama was captain level and that Chojiro knew it. Knew that Chojiro was a coward who wouldn't protest anymore, or revolt. Knew that he couldn't get out of the bakudou in time and letting himself be bound had been a very grave mistake. And, as the vice-captain went away quickly and Aaoyama looked at the two gigai, heading for Zaraki's, he knew that he'd also made a big mistake when he had left the two dolls there naked.

This, he decided, was karma come back to kick him for wanting Ichigo that badly, not waiting for another lifetime, but making itself visible in this one. He had his clothes torn off, was manhandled and, as badly as he tried to release himself, he couldn't. Aaoyama didn't care for subtleties or preparations. Urahara screamed. Not in pain, but in rage, a warrior's cry, a kiai trying to push the other away by sheer force of will. Later, he started crying in despair. Not for his body, but for the invasion, for the helplessness. For his own incapability of stopping it, of pulling away, of keeping himself a whole man. For not being able to get away, even when doing his best. For being so stupid as to cause it on himself.

It was later, what felt like much later, that he was abandoned, raped and beaten, on the floor of his laboratory. Zaraki's gigai stared at him wide-eyed from the floor and he just wanted the damned eyes off of him. Alone, feeling very dirty, and very used, Urahara gave up on all his masks and tricks and thoughts and calculations and simply curled up in a ball, facing a corner, hiding from all the damned world. For the first time in a century, he honestly to God sobbed, feeling wretched. He ached, he felt disgusted and he really, really hated Aaoyama … and himself.

But, at least, he thought, with a hint of a humorless, vengeful grin, they hadn't gotten Ichigo. Nor would they be able to get him, if he wasn't as stupid as Urahara himself. And that was what mattered most.

* * *

**AN:** Phew. That was hard to write. And long to edit. Chojiro is actually a canon character. Aaoyama and Shincho are not. I'll try to update soon, but as mentioned before, there's exams.

Of course, the past storyline will be continued in another chapter. I'm not going to leave it hanging like that.

In the mean time, don't forget to review! I know you want to.


	7. Yoruichi, Yield, Yearn

Disclaimer: Own not.

**AN:** Hi, guys! It's been about a week, hasn't it? Time for another update. Real Life is being difficult. My exams aren't hard, but I haven't studied at the right time (don't even ask why....) and now I'm trying to catch up. I hope I'm passing them. Ah, well. Than you all for the reviews! They were the balm upon my study-induced blisters.

Chapter 7: Yoruichi, Yield, Yearn

The house was dark and silent. Nobody appeared to be at home, but she cried out his name anyway. He heard it. He heard everything. He heard her walking, searching for him. He heard her making the little noises one makes when announcing they're searching for someone, like a shuffling of the feet, or a ruffling of material. He heard, but he didn't reply. It would have taken too much effort. And his voice would have broken – he was terribly close to sobs again, anyway. But he wouldn't sob. Instead, he waited quietly on his futon, staring through the shadows, feeling as if he were falling through the world, losing touch with everything that he held dear, or sacred, with everything that made him feel strong and secure.

"Kisuke!"

The voice was getting closer. She was in her human form. He could tell by the voice and the footsteps. What he couldn't tell was whether she was dressed or naked. Ah, well. Neither would come as a surprise, not really. And how weird it was to be wondering little things like that at a time like this.

"Kisuke! I know you're in here! I can feel you!" No secret about it when he didn't have a reiatsu cloaking device. But it was hard to pinpoint the exact location of a man inside his own home, where everything had his imprint. "What are you doing? Oi!"

Eventually she entered his bedroom and saw him. There was enough light from the street lamps to see him by - and anyway her eyes maintained enough cat-like characteristics that he could see quite well through the darkness. So she took him in fast enough, the moment she came through the door and stopped short. He didn't look at her, continuing to stare at the ceiling, afraid to move. She was here too late – there was nothing she could do to help him. And she was here too early – he hadn't yet managed to recover. She'd caught him, so weak, so vulnerable, so miserable and unmasked.

"What's wrong? Kisuke?"

"Don't turn on the light," he asked. "I don't want you to."

For a second, he was afraid that she wouldn't listen to him, that she would purposefully turn it on to torture him. Then he remembered who she was and realized she never would. Yoruichi walked inside, slowly, carefully, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. He usually jumped to greet her. Not so now. She sat right next to him and leaned down, her yellow eyes watching him questioningly. She reached out a hand, possibly to put it on his shoulder and shake him gently, but, before he could stop himself, his body acted almost on his own. He pulled back, fast, recoiling from her touch, a hiss escaping from his lips. Pure instinct. Pure animal. Pure haunted fear.

"_Don't touch me_."

She retreated hastily, not just taking away the hand, but her entire body, sitting on her knees a foot further back. He realized suddenly that his breath was shallow, panicked and forced himself to calm down and slowly return to his lying position, trying to relax.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, realizing how it must have looked to her, having him jerk away like that. But there was no trace of offence in her. Just something that went somewhere beyond worry.

"What the hell happened, Kisuke?"

He considered it for a few seconds. "Soul Society sent.... two people to recuperate Ichigo."

She processed this and waited for more. He couldn't tell her more, however. He didn't know where to start. It had all gone so downhill from there, it had been so stupid, so incredibly reckless of him to leave such a huge opening. Immunity of the sort he had been given was not bodily immunity, it was a protection of the law. It offered no assistance, just a promise of revenge. It was all so bloody idiotic, with himself as the king of fools. He had let it happen. And he suddenly felt laughter bubbling up because that sentence he had told Yoruichi had been entirely non-telling, understated, a string of a few words saying nothing about anything. He let out a guffaw and there were tears rolling down his cheeks, but he wasn't crying. He knew he wasn't crying. He'd stopped crying some time before, so he couldn't be doing it now. This was laughter, he told himself as his body shook with it. The thought that if it were any other woman there but Yoruichi, she would probably have recoiled in fear at his hysteria only made him laugh harder.

"What the fuck did they do to you, Kisuke?"

It was a credit to her trust in him that she didn't question his sanity, he assumed and the idea calmed him down. Still, he didn't know where to even start. He trembled like a leaf and couldn't quite tell why. He couldn't stop that, either. He couldn't stop anything today, the world was just proving how tiny and insignificant he was and it was a truly clarifying lesson. Couldn't stop a bloody thing. Except Ichigo getting killed. Maybe. Unless he was getting killed right now in Hueco Mundo. Or they decided to kill him first and check the consequences later.

"They didn't like me," he said, in the end, because that was all he could say. He couldn't get to the point – he felt like a child, learning to speak again. He couldn't bring himself to say the word - the words. Rape. Depraved. "There was the 1st division vice-captain and Kuchiki Aaoyama. Aaoyama especially didn't like me, Yoruichi-san." Suck. Blood. Lick. They wouldn't come out, any of those words.

"Did they beat you?"

"Not as such. No, wait, actually yes. Aaoyama did. Eventually he started beating, too. Ha ha.... Ha."

"You've taken beatings before, Kisuke."

He didn't know what to answer. How to tell her. How to explain what was wrong. He opened his mouth again, but the words still wouldn't come out. He was silent. A part of himself wanted to shut up and push everything under the carpet. At least the basics, though. He needed to tell her. _R-a-p-e,_ he thought. It's not a difficult word. Say it. Say. It.

He couldn't. He closed his mouth, then opened it again and willed her to understand without him speaking, without the words passing his lips, without explanations. He willed her with all his heart, but he found he couldn't will himself to actually speak. In the end, he decided to say what he could say. Even if it made so little sense, even to himself, disjointed actions done before and after. The conversation hurt him. Her presence hurt him.

"I washed afterwards. I washed _hard_, but it won't go away. The feeling. Please, Yoruichi-sama, I...."

She knew him well enough to catch the suffix for the plea that it was. She'd known him long enough to tell that he couldn't talk. That he was begging her to read his mind, to be superhuman for just this instant. Instinctively, she leaned towards him. Instinctively, he pulled back. She retreated again and let out a noise of frustration.

"What's wrong? Let me help you. Tell me."

_Rape_, he wanted to say. It was on his lips – his dirty, hated lips that he wanted to tear away from himself –, but it wouldn't get past them. He couldn't get away from his own mental block. He couldn't get away from his shaking. Because if he said that one word, he'd have to say the others. And he didn't want to say anything at all, just roll over and die for awhile.

"Zaraki-san's gigai is on the floor," he said, finally. "Aaoyama used it. I didn't put it back. He... used it on me." The words didn't come easily.

Yoruichi blinked, piecing it together in the silence. _Understand_, he wanted to say to her. _Please_. And then he remembered his eternal videos of everything that went on in certain places of the house.

"It's recorded," he said. "On the cameras."

"Did he rape you, Kisuke? Is that what happened?"

He breathed out in some relief. She'd gotten it. His Yoruichi. His brilliant Yoruichi.

"Yes. And worse." And then, "please."

"Do you want me to look, or to burn them?"

He hesitated. "Look." He wanted her to know. He wanted.... He didn't know exactly what he wanted. Maybe to be forgiven. To be understood, without having to speak. "Could you go now?" he asked. She looked at him in just a bit of surprise and his heart clenched, hoping she wouldn't take it badly. He wanted to be alone. To not speak. To not do anything. To try and get better.

A part of his mind noted that his reactions were extreme now, not monitored or toned as they usually would be. He acted like an animal. But Yoruichi knew animals. She nodded and left.

There was silence for awhile, possibly as she tried to get the recordings to start playing from the moment those two came, and while she watched. Meanwhile, he worked on getting himself together, pulling all the strands of sanity and control back from where they'd been scattered. He was organized like that. He could pull himself out of anything. He could get over things. Yes, one thing at a time.

Later, he could feel her reiatsu flaring and hear furniture breaking into very tiny pieces under her anger. He knew her well, too. He knew that when she picked up a chair and set down to destroy it, there wouldn't be any piece big enough left to become a toothpick. A part of him wondered what she had chosen for destruction.

Better every second, he decided at some point of time. He was better every second. He had to be better every second. He didn't feel like it, but he had to be.

Yoruichi eventually calmed down from the first attack of rabid rage and he could feel her walking about, doing God knew what around the house. She was just a call away, but had not taken it to herself to hover over him, for which he was grateful. Time. He needed time.

When she came back, it was with tea. The first words that came out of her mouth were "I'll kill him. Slowly."

"Yoruichi-san."

She was next to him in an instant, putting the tea down. This time he was calm enough not to flinch. Maybe he had been getting better every second, after all. Yes. This was Yoruichi. His Yoruichi. Safe, warm Yoruichi. She slowly extended a hand to touch his shoulder. He controlled himself and let her.

"Aaoyama is a fucked up animal. Worse than an animal. I'll kill him for you."

"Yoruichi-san...."

"He just had to go the damned extra hundred miles, didn't he? It wasn't even about any sort of retaliation or whatever he called it. That stuff was just plain depraved, you can't even get it for money. He just jumped on the occasion. Fucking sadist. Should be put down."

"My Yoruichi."

She suddenly seemed to remember that he was in the room, too. She'd been talking nearly to herself up until now and when he finally got her attention, she looked slightly apologetic. She lay down on the floor next to him, looking him in the eyes. "Kisuke.... Is there anything I can do for you? I cleaned up the laboratory and the gigai. I can burn Zaraki's gigai, if you want. I can burn both of them. I can burn anything you want me to burn."

"No." Nothing needed burning. He would have told her to do so if she had asked when she had first come in, but right now he knew he couldn't handle making another Zaraki gigai. At the same time, he felt himself still dirty, still used, still unable to be scrubbed back to cleanliness. He tried to give her a tentative smile. "Just me. Burn me."

A look of pain crossed her face and she tentatively reached out to him again, before retreating, remembering his previous reaction.

"Can I touch you, Kisuke?"

He wanted to say yes, to claim that it was fine now, but reality hit him straight between the eyes. He wasn't fine. But.... "Alright. I feel... slightly better."

To his relief, she was sensible enough not to jump on him. Instead, she approached slowly, soothingly, in the same way she had a few years back when the two of them had been walking through a deserted street and she had seen an abandoned, growling puppy that she immediately decided to adopt. She inched closer, slowly, climbing on the futon with him and hugging him carefully. It was.... comforting, he found. Once his body realized he wasn't about to get hurt again.

"At least Central 46 knows of me and Ichigo," he whispered. "He'll have immunity. And I'll tell him not to let his guard down for sneak attacks. This won't happen to him."

"You took quite a lot for the kid."

"Gladly."

"You care so much about people, Kisuke."

There had been something in her voice, which hinted that there was a question in her statement. A question that had come as a reply to his 'gladly' outburst, to the assertive tone in it, the fierceness. He tensed. He didn't want to do this. Not then. She looked up at him and felt that he was trembling again.

"What's wrong?"

Not then. He didn't want to do it then, this opening of the heart, this admittance. But she had _asked_ and to not say anything, to delay anything, would have meant to cheat her, to lie to her. Urahara didn't want to do that. She had a right to know.

"I care more about him than other people. I.... Yoruichi. This whole thing. I wanted him. Before. Badly. Still do." Coherence, he thought, taking a deep breath. Coherence. She deserved coherence. "I knew it was like this even before we started, before I blackmailed him. I hate telling you this, but there are feelings involved.... I mean to say, I have feelings for him. Deep feelings – I can't tell what, precisely. There's so much sexual attraction that I.... Stick my foot in my mouth, don't I? Well, I lost it the first time I slept with him. I just.... pounded into him desperately, I just needed him and wanted him and _had_ him and didn't care whether he felt good or not. And I _still_ want him. He probably doesn't really want me, even if he did accept me, so.... so there. But it's still cheating. I know what I did. I know how I did it. My mind is on him every day, every hour, every minute, driving me mad. It's not just cheating. It's more than cheating. And I don't want to do this to you, my, no, not my, Yoruichi, you don't deserve to be treated like this. I.... I kept postponing telling you, but it's only fair you should know and we should break up, because you are worth much, much more. I hope you can forgive me, but, I didn't want it, I really didn't and then I tried to ignore it, but there was this whole damned situation and I had to sleep with him and now I can't stop it, I can't make it go away and...."

"Shut up, Kisuke."

He stopped abruptly at her freezing voice. This had been it, then. His own babbling, interrupting, half-coherent explanation that he could have done better to one of his favourite people in the world. He waited for her judgement. Go ahead, fate, do your worse. Let's see how much you can hit in one day.

"I can't believe it," she said. "One hundred years. We've been together for one hundred years, through good and bad and now this boy waltzes along...." It had started, and even if he had wanted to take it all meekly and quietly, he couldn't help interrupting. He still wanted her to understand. To forgive him, maybe, in a corner of her heart.

"I'm so sorry, but I.... I don't know what to do. I can't.... stop.... I never meant for it to happen. You mean so much to me and I don't want to make you suffer and...."

"I said shut up, Kisuke. I wasn't done. And you'll listen. One hundred years. And then you go ahead and say you want us to break up because Ichigo happened to you. Well, guess what. I don't give a damn about what you want to do with me right now. You can't just make this decision for me and decide what I deserve and don't deserve and what is right and what is wrong. After one century of being in a relationship with me, you should know better. You should know I want to make my own decisions and not have you take them for me. You don't get to say I go. _I_ get to say if I go."

"But...."

"Yes, I'm pissed at you. You should have told me sooner. For fuck's sake, every time I turn round, you get into trouble, first the Vizard, then the Spirit King, now this. You just exclude me and then proceed to make a mess out of everything. But you can't kick me away just because you think it's the right thing to do with me. Look me in the eyes and don't tell me what you think you should say. If you really want me to go away, if you're sickened by the very sight of me, or if you can't bear my presence any longer, if you need me to walk out that door and never return, tell me. I can do that, too. But don't tell me that I'm suffering and you're treating me badly, so we should break up. We don't live by shoulds, Kisuke. We're not a normal couple and never were a normal couple. And I'm not a normal woman. Who knows what I want or what I deserve, or what makes me suffer. Now, tell me the truth. I want it. If you owe me anything, you owe me that."

"But...."

"No _buts_. This isn't the first time one of us slept with somebody else and we both know it. A century is a very long time."

"This is _different_."

"Great. Tell me about it. Tell me what's going on – and let me figure out what I want. But don't you dare take the choice away from me. I'm stronger than you, love. And I'd have slapped you if you weren't in such a bad state. Now tell me about Ichigo and why this is special and what you want to do about it. And then I'll tell you what _I'm_ going to do. Fair enough?"

Urahara closed his mouth, and his eyes, and allowed himself to relax. His body still ached and he still felt bile in his throat, but he wanted to get this through. He needed it. To solve things, to move on, get things done, arranged, taken care of. And right now, he needed to talk. Slowly. Carefully. He had his chance of telling her about it, explaining himself entirely, because to him, in some way, Yoruichi was also his best friend and his confidante and there were things he needed her to know.

"I don't know if it's love, or even being in love," he said at last. "There's much lust. And care. I want him safe and, then again, I plain _want_ him – both of them so badly. And he's beautiful. Did you see that? In his eyes, in his way of being, in his _freedom_ that he keeps affirming. So wild, so strong, so wilful, so _young_. And somehow I find myself thinking of him all the time, all day long, daydreaming of him, imagining doing _things_ to him, with him. It drives me up the wall, it takes so much longer to get my mind back on the right track so I can work. Yoruichi, if I were to sleep with you now, I'd picture him. And that is why I wanted us to.... to...."

"I get it. Move on."

"But...."

"You think it hurts, I guess. Well, yes, it does. You're as tactful as a bulldozer at the moment, but never mind that. Go on. What do you want to do about it?"

"He.... It isn't mutual. Even if he does swing both ways in the end, I doubt he will choose me. I don't think I hurt him much, but.... Yoruichi, I lost it with him. His first time and I just ... climbed on top and took him. No mercy or anything."

"He wasn't that distressed if he, well, returned the favour."

"How did you...."

"I watched it in the lab."

Urahara closed his eyes and was silent. Ah. The tapes. It wasn't something he'd have chosen to show her. But then again, he didn't much fancy explaining every little detail to her, either. And of course she'd watch those, too, given the chance.

"So I don't know what to do about him," he finished in what he felt was a crowning moment of lameness. "And right now, I hurt," he said finally. "And I feel so dirty. And I don't know what I want to do, or can do. I just want.... To hide, I guess. For awhile. And not do anything. Not.... I can't.... Actually, even if it were Ichigo here, I couldn't sleep with him. Not now. So don't ... ask things of me."

"My, my, Kisuke. Jumping from breaking up to asking me not to demand sex of you. What sort of an opinion do you have of me?"

Her voice, however, held no harshness. And her arms felt comforting on him. Safe. Protective. He was hiding behind her metaphorical skirts, he knew, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care. He needed it. She was right, too, after a century together they knew too much about each other to have it all fall apart in an instant. He could feel the line there, between his usual slips of cheating and this burning for Ichigo, a deep difference that he needed to acknowledge, that he needed Yoruichi to acknowledge. He opened his mouth to speak again, but she was faster.

"You have it as bad for him as you had it for me at the beginning, right?" she asked.

Memories, left to lie for a very long time, came rushing back. He'd never considered it, but she was right. He gaped at the similarities, at the way he had acted then and he was acting now, and before he could answer anything, Yoruichi spoke again. She was always faster and not just in shunpo.

"You did the same thing with me, remember? You jumped me, too, the first time. And not just the first time."

"Yes, I remember I did. But you didn't let me to...."

"I'm not as passive as Ichigo, Kisuke. But he isn't a weakling, either. If he'd have wanted you, really wanted you, to get off, you would have been off. As for me, I enjoy it when you get a bit wild."

"A bit?"

"You should see how Captain Yamamoto gets. I know his kind of old, that Genryusai, but his zanpakutou isn't a fire one for no reason."

Out of all the things today, that mental image! Urahara jumped so hard he scattered the blankets about. His heart was in his throat, waiting to jump between his teeth to get a glance at Yoruichi and see what on earth was going on. The old man, the scarred, frail, really, really old man and his... No, wrong, wrong, wrong.

"You slept with _Yamamoto_!" He'd meant it as a question. It had come out as a squeak.

Yoruichi looked him in the eyes deadly seriously for about half a second before bursting out into one of her loud, shaking howls of laughter that were so characteristically her.

"_Gotcha!_ I can't believe you fell for it. Ahahahaha...."

"Jeez, Yoruichi-san, sometimes...." He let himself fall back on the futon.

"Aha-No hahah... sense of humour, hehehoohooohaaaahaaaa, Kisuuuukeee!"

Urahara cracked a smile. Her laughter was infectious and, just like the rest of her, could snap anybody from whatever thoughts they were dwelling in right into reality. He felt better. He felt more normal now. He lay a hand across her and wished that, just this once, life wouldn't be so complicated.

"What do you want to do, Yoruichi?" he asked, softly, when she had calmed down.

"Stay and make sure you don't manage to screw yourself up, I guess. You have this knack for getting into trouble."

"I don't want to take advantage of you."

"Kisuke, you're in no position to take advantage of anybody and even if you were, I'd like to see you try. No, I'm staying because I want to and because you need it and I care enough to stay. What exactly will happen to _us_, well, we'll see. But if you'll remember, we didn't spend all this time just sleeping together. We're closer than that. And I'll make sure I end up on my feet no matter what. I'm a werecat, as Byakuya used to say, we're experts at that."

He relaxed and gave her a smile and an affectionate squeeze.

"Yeah, well. So, love life aside, what do you want to do about Aaoyama? I could take care of him, if you want me to. If you don't, and Ichigo finds out, he'll take care of him regardless of what you say, I think. He's quite impulsive."

Urahara considered it, wondering what chances a half-formed thought had of becoming a working plan. The more he thought about it, the more chances he gave it. So he answered, "No, I don't want you to do anything to him. And I won't, either. Not ... directly."

"Eh?"

"There's more people than just Aaoyama out there who have done ... things. You know that. I know that. And if they work for the Central 46, they're practically immune. Anybody who fights against them can end up worse than they stared off. We can't take revenge for everybody who gets hurt and they can't bring complaints. Especially if they're on the other side of the law. The Central 46 has been known to make mistakes. Many mistakes. The shinigami law system might as well be a Russian roulette."

There was a pause, as she considered. "So?"

"It's far-fetched, but maybe we can give them a hit in return. The timing probably couldn't be worse for such a thing, but...."

"Am I getting it right? Are you considering hitting the legal system, Aaoyama and all bastards under the protection of working for Central 46 in the same hit?"

It sounded very ambitious, now that she put it like that. But.... "Yes."

"Sounds like trouble."

"Probably will be."

"It's nice to know I'll be on the inside this time."

Urahara felt almost daring now. Yes, he could do something about it. He had the power. He knew he had it. The power, the mind and the determination. All for striking against Soul Society's weakest part. He had to be insane to consider it, though, himself against the Central 46, the outsider vs. the law. It was ambitious, to say the least. A thought crossed his mind, uncalled for, unbidden. _What would the King think about it_? And then the answer came, fast, certain. _He'd think, 'Good. Take care.'_

* * *

AN: I bet you weren't expecting Yoruichi to pop up like this. But, well, it's not as if I weren't hinting at their relationship. * grin*

Well, see you, guys,and don't forget to review. Feedback keeps me happy while I'm studying for exams or, alternately, doing badly in them. Cheers!


	8. What, When, Where, Who?

**Disclaimer: **As usual, still haven't bought it from the owner. If you want to buy it and give it to me as a gift, I don't mind. But right now it isn't mine and I'm not making any money off of it. I just like writing disclaimers, though. For some reason.

**AN:** Ok, so maybe Yoruichi's relationship with Urahara wasn't all that obvious. But I did sprinkle a bit of it here and there ... right? Also, I'd like to note that this chapter has been uploaded in the unusual manner of choosing another uploaded document, deleting everything from it and copy-pasting the chapter into it, because that annoying upload button simply won't work! I hope this new idea does, though, so if anything went wrong, tell me about it.

**Chapter 8: What, When, Where, Who?**

**(or: How Urahara Realized That Something Was Very Fishy, But He Realized It A Bit Too Late)**

The rescue party did not arrive. It barged. Well, mostly barged. Kuchiki Byakuya was much too aristocratic to have anything to do with such an undignified action, so his action of choice was swift movement. Unohana always appeared slowly and with dignity, even when shunpo-ing, so barging was something that happened to other people. Mayuri was too special for normal verbs to apply, but it _looked_ like barging, anyway. And that meant that the only two of the group to actually, honest to God barge, were Isane and Zaraki, with Yachiru barging by association. But these two, plus the one hanger-on, were the first to appear seemingly out of nowhere inside the shop.

Urahara did _not_ need the Captain of the Eleventh Division to do such a thing the very next day after Aaoyama's appearance. His reaction was quick, instinctive and might have shown his former position in the Covert Ops slightly too much for comfort. He jumped back, raised his fan with one hand and the cane with the other, in defence of both physical attack and less physical intrusion. And then there was a bit of embarrassment on his side as reality crashed in and he realized how stupid he had to look when doing that. He held a feeble hope that they wouldn't notice, caught up in the spur of the moment as they were, but these were top shinigami, some of the best Seireitei had to offer. Of course they noticed.

"Eh?" Zaraki asked, having noticed that the defence was mostly against him. "What's wrong?"

Urahara felt frozen, like a deer in headlights. This wasn't the man who had done it – but the image was the same. He _knew_ things about that body. He knew it too intimately, could see in his mind every muscle, every tough, hurting piece of flesh, he'd seen some parts too close, he'd tasted some things that were never meant to be tasted. A great part of him wanted to run, to flee and never look back. A part of him felt stripped of all its defences, alone, barren, weak beyond belief, begging not to be hurt and expecting to have _things_ done to him anyway.

That part could go kick itself, the shopkeeper decided. _He_ was in charge. And he was a Captain. He was Urahara Kisuke, the man who always had that one ace up his sleeve, that last fox smile somewhere in the back of his soul, the person who could never be entirely brought down, no matter what you did. He had to believe it to make it true. And he _would_ make it true. He beat the weakness down with courage, with slyness. He was strong – and always prepared.

"Back, demon!" he cried. "Bells? My gods, that's scary, what entire lack of fashion sense! Don't they make your head jingle all the time? Actually, why are you wearing them at all? Ah, scary, scary."

So he wasn't always _well_ prepared. He'd never claimed to be _well_ prepared, sometimes _just prepared_ had to do the trick. He watched as Zaraki's eyes narrowed suspiciously and had to hold himself down to act as usual, to not think about the fear, not allow it to exist, because if he did, even for a single second, he would run away. The others had caught the strain in his voice, in his so-called act of fright. They could tell that it wasn't a simple goofing off. Byakuya had an air of suspicion about him. Yet, nobody would ask and that was all he really wanted right now.

"None of your business, straw-head. But it's to make fights more interesting," Zaraki said.

"Personal soundtrack?"

"Eh?"

"Ha, ha, never mind. Well, I guess you want to go to Hueco Mundo, then? Come right this way, I'll open a gate for you."

They walked downstairs, to the training grounds, where Yoruichi was lying down on a faraway boulder in her cat shape, watching them impassively. Almost impassively. She too had a small twitch when she saw the party, but she covered it much better than he had. Nobody noticed. They were too busy to see that a certain cat's tale had stopped for a fraction of a second – they were too caught up in staring at the shopkeeper, who skipped ahead in a new, startling pace. He wanted this over with. He had _things_ to do and suddenly there was this feeling at the back of his head, saying that he should have known they'd get there, that it was obvious that Ichigo would go after Orihime, and these guys after Ichigo and that Aizen would know that. Yes, the feeling nagged him, because.... Because.... There was something else.

But first. Urahara made a discreet sign to Byakuya to stay behind. The other man nodded slightly in return and, after the strange incantation was uttered and the Garganta was opened, waited for everybody else to go first. He walked in front of the shopkeeper.

"Yes?" And he took the chance to look around the underground, noticing, somewhere, far, the black feline shape resting on a very hard surface. He stopped to stare at her.

"When you return, Kuchiki-san, there are some matters I would like to discuss with you as the head of the Kuchiki house," Urahara said, in his usual pleasant manner. "So please stop by."

Byakuya's eyes flashed back from the annoying woman to the shopkeeper, measuring him, no doubt wondering why on earth Urahara would want to talk with him as the head of the Kuchiki house, never mind wanting to talk to him at all. The noble turned his gaze back to Yoruichi. He didn't much like the blond, seeing that the man had broken too many rules and kept doing that, was technically a traitor and had also happened to snatch the Shihouin heir, towards whom Byakuya had special feelings.

Those emotions weren't easy to define, being somewhere in between annoyance, admiration, attraction, frustration and a recognition of a person of the same rank as himself – one wouldn't go so far as to call that respect. But he hadn't liked her going away, even if there was no way he would be as vocal about it as Soi Fon. He too wanted her back – it was a noble's duty to watch over the things they had to watch. She was the head of the house, so she should start acting like it. Somehow, he would make her see that. But, on a human level, he also hoped that Urahara was making her happy at least, because … because if somebody abandoned their important position in society, there had to be some sort of compensation for it and he wouldn't want to see a fellow noble end up badly in all ways.

No, he didn't like the former captain, the blond menace. But he acknowledged him. He nodded and stepped through the gate, following in the others' wake. When they were all gone, Urahara turned and walked towards Yoruichi.

"How are you?" the cat asked.

"Could have been better. It would appear that times couldn't be busier now, wouldn't it?"

"So it would seem. Well, now what?"

"Now?... Now we project Karakura into Soul Society, let the Vizard know what we're doing and then I edit some videos. I'd rather not show some very distressing parts to some very distressing Central 46 members. And I'm also trying to figure out what Aizen is thinking and hope to be able to tell by this afternoon, so that we can warn the others about possibilities and maybe you can inform Yamamoto of what he might be thinking.... We have no spies, but I'm sure that there has to be some sort of logical course that he's taking."

"I see. And what are we gonna do tonight?" The sarcasm in her voice floated about in a cloud of cat hair.

Urahara looked at her tiredly. Ok, so he was a bit overly ambitious right now. And because the Universe was already insane enough, he pet her gently and answered, "Tonight?.... Why, the same thing we do every night. Stop Aizen from trying to take over the world!"

Yoruichi threw him a _look_. He decided not to pursue that way of thinking and go back to seriousness.

"Here's what I've been thinking. Aizen's shikai is very strong and nobody that I know of except Ichigo can possibly fight against it in the upcoming battle. We might have a chance to win with Ichigo fighting for us."

"Yeah. So?"

"Well, he's not the sort of person not to know that. He also knows that Ichigo will by then know not to look. Which means we have a revealed advantage that he will prepare against. So he might go into bankai. Or he might even have undergone hollowification himself, case in which we have a problem. He's like a Zaraki-taichou actually in touch with his shinigami powers, which makes even his bankai frightening and his hollowification even more so."

"So what do you propose, Kisuke?"

"I don't know.... I need time. And after this is all over, I want a vacation, a long one, just to have time to be traumatized properly."

"Yeah. Of course. After you beat up Central 46 and revolutionize Shinigami law."

Urahara suddenly felt very, very tired.

* * *

His hair was cascading on the keyboard, spread out wildly and beautifully, as its owner nearly, but not actually, snored. There was something to be said about sleep. You had to have it. Urahara especially had to have it, since he'd skipped it a bit too much, what with blackmail and deflowering and rapes and making the world go round. Just today he had contacted the Vizard, projected Karakura in Soul Society and right now, he had collapsed during editing the videos for Central 46 while with the half of brain not necessary to press the buttons and split away the unmentionable parts he considered Aizen's possible choices. The editing was anything but urgent and the rest of his thoughts couldn't possibly work well while he was dead tired, so Yoruichi unceremoniously picked him up and carried him to bed. She was used to doing that.

Then she read his diary. She was not used to doing that.

Seeing that Urahara was Urahara, the journal was very well protected against anybody who might have wanted to read it. It was masked as a faded, dusty copy of the "The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire", a book which was not known to tempt anybody, especially in Japan, especially in its English edition, then it was locked away with some specialized Bakudou and it also had an alarm device should anybody break into it.

But Yoruichi didn't break into it. She knew the right passwords and the right ways to open it without a problem. He'd given her access to his diary long ago, for practical reasons, because he sometimes needed her to search for something he'd written down, or buy some things on one of the grocery lists in there or such. She had never bothered to do anything with it but that, trusting him too much and being too bored by his shopkeeping descriptions and gigai, Jinta and Ururu monitoring to actually ever care much about prying.

But right now, she wanted to know some things, he didn't have the time to tell her and she was sure he would answer her if she asked. Well, mostly sure. Half-sure, anyway. But, well, he'd given her access to his diary and told her she could open it at any time she wanted, so maybe now was her time.

It _did_ feel like an invasion of privacy, though. Just a tiny little bit. Weeeelll, curiosity killed the cat, but it wouldn't dare try to kill _her_.

She flipped around the pages curiously, trying to find something recent relating either to herself or Ichigo. Needing to buy two dozen erasers since he kept losing them, seeing Isshin as a shinigami again, catching Renji masturbating and finding his reaction funny, compact soul improvement notes.... Ah. There.

"_I asked him if he felt my intention to kill him in my blade. I have no doubt he did. A sword is a weapon and, wielded right, shows its true murderous potential. But at the same time, I wonder what he would have said if he had known of my desire to pierce him, if he knew that part of the pleasure of striking him down was to have him down and with something of mine stuck in him. My, I do believe my mind has taken permanent residence in the gutter lately._"

Lately? Really now, lately? She should gather evidence from his older diaries.

"_Abarai-san's 'head' is ticker than the rest of him. It fits the way most people describe him as 'thick-headed', too. Does this mean that a shinigami's cock resembles other aspects of said shinigami_?"

...And mind in the gutter again, where it meets unedited bad humour. Reason no. 76 why shinigami should never know how many things a gigai-maker is aware of. Another page? Something, something, otouto-san. Little brother? Who was that? She tried to remember people with a younger brother and failed. Well, she'd have to ask. Ah, her own name.

"_Yoruichi came by today. Finally. To say that I've missed her would be superfluous. She agreed to take on part of Ichigo's training – never had a doubt that she would. A long, quiet night together, making love and just talking. Somehow I couldn't bring myself to tell her about my attraction to the boy. It feels strange, to be a paedophile of sorts. Ah, well, at least she'd understand why I was silent, no doubt about that."_

Yoruichi flipped another few pages.

"_Worried about Kuchiki Rukia, but mostly of what is inside her. Does it mean I am a monster?"_

"_A letter from Shincho-san. Wondering if I should burn it. Can it be traced back? I'm trying to trace it myself to check on his security – and so far, nothing. I can't tell it apart from the morning paper with regards to tracing. Maybe I can keep it. Anyway, no important information. As there never really was, or would be. No secrets, we agreed. Never tell the secrets. Sometimes I wonder how much he knows about the situation with Aizen, about Ichigo, about the way the world works. If he's aware of it or not, or if he's aware of more. And sometimes I wonder if he and Yoruichi.... And I think I am afraid to ask."_

She paused and looked over to the sleeping form of Urahara. Afraid to ask?... Afraid to ask what? Then it struck her and she wanted to wake him up, all of a sudden, and give him his answer, as well as any other answer to any question he hadn't dare to ask. No, she and that man had only seen each other on the run and even though she'd liked what she's seen.... No. What else was he afraid to ask? Should she admit to reading his diary and ask him, then answer anything and everything? Would he mind that, knowing she'd rummaged?

Who was she kidding? He would mind, for awhile, and after that he'd forgive. She had to consider it.

"_Ichigo is becoming a recurrent character in my fantasies. It must be the possibility of chasing him, of making a working project of his seduction. I dream of holding him down, ever so gently, kissing him until he's lost with pleasure and begging for more. Want to touch him, penetrate him. My usual fantasy of getting locked in a room with a person, no chances of escape for either of us is acting up. I can see the tiny room now, a double bed, a stack of books, nothing else to do, prisoners somewhere, somehow. And I would encourage us to be more and more naked, because what is there to hide, between two men, then moving closer to him, in an embrace, in a kiss. He'd pull back at first and try to escape me, but there would be nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Maybe I'd do something rash, such as take him in my mouth when he'd least expect it, pin him down enough for him to get the taste of the feeling and not want to pull back. _

_Or he alone would be the prisoner – my prisoner. Not knowing it, of course, until I stepped in his room, where he'd be bound to a bed, asking himself why, why the setting, why the silk on his naked skin. And he would get his answer._

_Against a wall, in his bathroom, and he would hiss as I press him against cold tiles, sliding into him and whispering he should be quiet, since Isshin is just downstairs. _

_Yoruichi undressing him and snogging him senseless. He wouldn't notice me there until I prepared him for the penetration. And she would chuckle and hold him down and kiss him, distracting him from his ideas of running. To have him writhe under me while he was with her...."_

"Oh, my, Kisuke," she said, with a grin and a glance at _her_ shopkeeper. He slept peacefully on, oblivious to having his very private fantasies read. She felt a bit better, knowing she was still in there, in his mind, in his fantasies. He had a pretty long list of fantasies there, that must have been one idle, horny afternoon, or night, or whatever.

"_Yoruichi in her dominant mood pushing me against the wall and binding me there with the usual bakudou." _What usual baku—Oh. Right. _"He'd come in asking for something stupid and stopping dead in his tracks when he saw us. Her pushing him in and closing the door behind him. And he'd join, nibbling and licking at my neck, then slowly pushing into me and loving every second of it, while I...." _

"Entirely forget that Yoruichi was even there," the cat woman said as she read on through a long paragraph of the things the younger man would do to him while her name wasn't mentioned again. "My, my, you _are_ getting distracted, Kisuke." Of course, he didn't stir.

She wasn't jealous. Jealousy was something that went away in time – she knew him perhaps a bit too well, she was too much involved in his life, his soul, she was seeing this too much from his point of view to be jealous. It wasn't a raging, hot feeling, shattering all in its wake. It was a slightly lonely feeling of being pushed in the background for now. She knew him well enough to know he didn't want her away, to know that, just like her, he felt they were part of a pair, an unbreakable one, no matter what. And right now, he was distracted away. Well. She was the Shihouin heir, the Flash Goddess and, most of all, she was a bright, powerful woman who knew better than to spin around wailing that her man had run off. She didn't want consolation. She wanted his attention back. And she would get it. Because Urahara was not the only scheming person under that roof and an old cat had many, many tricks – unlike dogs, cats never stopped learning.

Fine, he could have his Ichigo. She didn't mind that, not really. But she was lady of the house here and she would make sure she got the lion's share. Two lovers? It was going to be difficult for him. She would _make_ it difficult for him, enough to keep him on his toes, while he'd just _have_ to manage. She wouldn't settle for less than everything she'd had so far.

She looked at his sleeping form with some fondness. Yes, indeed, Yoruichi felt very comfortable in Urahara's life. She felt just at home. And she was better than Soi Fon when it came to keeping somebody around. Still, she couldn't help but marvel that she had to share him with Ichigo, of all people. Go figure the oddities of life. She supposed it was some sort of payback from the Universe for the times she'd strayed.

Bad kitty, she thought with some amusement. Bad, protective, slightly possessive kitty who'd tear you apart if you threatened what was her own. While also knowing when to respect a person's freedom, even as she wasn't very keen on their privacy. Now, she had to go and take care of those videos. Urahara wasn't the only person who knew how to edit and she had a feeling she knew what he wanted out.

* * *

Urahara was thinking very, very hard, doodling on a paper some mathematical formulas that had nothing to do with anything, but which were the first things that sprung to mind whenever he needed his hands busy. Some people doodle normal things, like their own names or star shapes. Others write things such as the beginning verses to "Paradise Lost" or differentiation equations.

"Aren't we going to join the battle, Kisuke?" Yoruichi asked. The Vizard had left. Aizen had come. It was time for action of some sort, they couldn't just wait there, doing nothing.

"Hmm?"

"Aren't we joining the battle, Kisuke?"

"Eh?"

He was not paying attention, lost in his own world and staring at the paper as if it were the answer to all questions. She leaned over his shoulder and hoped to God that this was the right way to arouse him from his thinking coma.

"That X, whatever it is, is in great trouble, it seems to be slowly turning to 0," she purred in his ear. There we go. Outrageousness-induced shock should awaken the subject from his comatose state.

He whirled around. "What?!" Ah. Now she had his attention.

"Aren't we joining the battle, Kisuke?"

He sighed. "No."

"Why not?"

"Two reasons. The battle is taking place in Soul Society, which I shouldn't be in, unless I want to divulge the fact that I _can _be there. And also, because there's something wrong."

"Eh?"

"I can't quite put my finger on it, but something is wrong. The Zero Division is strong, quite strong, composed of people above the usual captain level. If he wants to be a god, he has to beat them. Aizen surely knows that. So where is his army? We would have been able to take down those Espada in the park ourselves and the Zeroes are at least as strong as we are. He can't possibly be counting on them to take over. So who _is_ he counting on? Tousen? Gin? Just himself? It might be very presumptuous of him to think he can win all this on his own. The Royal Guard is.... It's.... It isn't precisely a joking matter."

Yoruichi frowned. So.... Urahara answered before she could actually piece everything together.

"What _is_ he doing? Why the Espada? Why Hueco Mundo? He wants the Royal Key – but how do we know that? He told us. We assumed he wants it because he said so. We assumed he took over Hueco Mundo to have a base and build an army. We assumed he wanted Karakura due to its high density in spirit particles – 100.000 people dead.... There's something wrong, do you feel it, do you smell it? He is not the man who would lack a backup plan – he's not that stuck up to think he'll come out victorious just because he's himself. And for all we know, his backup plan might be more convenient than his obvious plan."

"What are you saying?"

"The captains, the Vizard – they're all out there, protecting Karakura. So, who's protecting Seireitei? Is there anybody above third seats still there? If there's anybody allied with Aizen that we do not know of, who is there to stop them from destroying Soul Society from within?"

You could hear a pin drop. That was a thing she hadn't considered. A very, very good and very, very frightening question. Somebody with her skill could go through there like a hot knife through butter if the captains and the vice-captains were gone. Yoruichi paled.

"Do you think there _is_ somebody there?" she asked.

"I don't know. But it's a possibility we have to keep in mind. When the cat isn't home, the mice...."

"Oh, dear. Do you think this cat should go home?" Because she, for one, suddenly thought it was a great idea. How come this thought hadn't popped up sooner? How could nobody have considered the foolishness of everybody of interest leaving Seireitei? How could.... She had to go.

"I think it might be a distinctly good idea, yes. If anything were to happen...."

"Somebody should be there."

"Yes." And, as she got up, he sighed and picked up a piece of paper. "I'll inform Shincho. Just in case."

She nodded. "Just in case."

She left in a flash, suddenly concerned with the need for urgency, for balancing more possibilities than they had men for. Meanwhile, Urahara's head was starting to ache. It suddenly felt that everybody and their dog were hatching some sort of scheme – and the looks Yoruichi was throwing him whenever he supposedly wasn't paying attention weren't helping at all. All he really wanted was a vacation. And Ichigo. Much Ichigo. But he pushed the boy out of his head and started writing to his old friend, wondering about the chances that the Zero Division would need to interfere.

_Tick-bloody-tock_, went his clock. Time was going too fast and he was starting to feel as if he were playing speed chess on an indeterminate board with unknown pieces where you were blindfolded half the time. _Tick. Bloody. Tock._

* * *

**AN: **Hello again, guys. Just a few notes: No, there won't be as much Yoruichi/Urahara as it's been hinted to be in these two chapters. I just needed her position to be clear. Another flash to the past should come soon. The next chapter will include Zaraki asking some very uncomfortable questions.

I'm also a bit uncertain about how this chapter came out (besides the whole technological impediments), so feedback would be especially appreciated.

Also, if you have any clue or suggestions as to where I might be able to post audiobooks of fanfics, please, please, please leave me a note. I want to practice on my voice actor skills and this is _the_ best way to do it (because I don't really like librivox and I don't think it offers feedback)


	9. Battle, Blood, Business

**Disclaimer:** Give Bleach to me and it shall be mine. But right now it's not.

**Author's Note!!!!** (might also be **WARNING!**) This is the chapter in which the canon is rushed at, high-fived and departed away from with amazing cheerfulness.

**Less relevant author's note **(or, In Which the Author Apologizes): I've finished my exams and slept a lot. Thanks to those who wished me good luck – so far I only know two results, but they were passing grades (and one of them was a 10/10! Hurrah!) Sorry for the wait, in other words, but I was busy recovering and plotting this chapter. I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I loved plotting it.

It's a bit longer than usual, which I hope makes up for the wait (even though I'm still not very pleased with the editing). And it also has everything and the kitchen sink thrown in it, from battle to crack to serious talk, to a lemon. Is that good? ;;)

**Chapter 9: Battle, Blood, Business**

The battle was a complete mess to fight in and a bigger mess to tell the tale of. Due to still wanting to have a non-baffled audience who do not require several markers and a diagram to keep up, the occurrences will be simplified.

Place: Fake Karakura Town. A near-perfect copy of Karakura, set as a decoy for Aizen, who needed to kill a huge amount of people in order to be able to create himself a Soul Key that would allow him access to the Soul King.

Characters: The Aizen party, starring the rebellious shinigami, most of the espada and some fraccion. The Seireitei party, starring most of the remaining captains and vice-captains. The Vizard party, starring all Vizard. Ichigo & Unohana, of the Hueco Mundo party. Also, the Surprise Party, _**not**_ named thus for hiding behind furniture until an unsuspecting poor soul made it in the middle of their own living room, with the sole intention of celebrating their birthday by not celebrating and then jumping up and shouting "surprise!"

So, the Aizen party, in totality, appeared in a fake Karakura, while the Seireitei party showed up to face them. First episode: the espadas' fraccion and the vice captains fought and Seireitei mostly won.

Then the captains and the espada fought, the Vizard appeared to save the day and the anti-Aizen party mostly won. Exception: Kensei and Wonderweiss, who ended up in a prolonged skirmish. Various people went down. Most notably Hiyori, who was literally cut in two pieces, half of her being taken care of by Hachi.

Then Ichigo and Unohana of the Hueco Mundo party showed up. Unohana quickly assessed the situation and went off to find the second half of Hiyori. And then it got really ugly and complicated. No matter how hard the 4th Division captain wanted to find the girl's lower part of the body, she kept getting delayed by finding other people in various states of injury and no state to fight in, such as Shunsui or Ukitake, who had been taken down by the Arrancar. The battle took place in the sky, which meant that the valiant battle produced a constant rain of men. Unohana caught Komamura before he fell to his doom and looked to see if there was anybody else incoming. Hitsugaya's Hyourinmaru was trying to circle Aizen, who cut it in half. Rose fell out of the sky, but went back before Unohana could stop him.

Finally managing to locate the lower body she was searching for, Unohana picked it up and rushed back to see what could be done.

In the sky, Soi Fon pricked Aizen's toe from underneath him. Yamamoto nearly burned everybody _but_ their enemy to a crisp. A second hit from Soi Fon in the same place – which was when everybody discovered that while it _did_ slow him down, a little, it would take more than two hits to kill him. Ichigo snapped on his Hollow mask and went for the kill.

And that's when they remembered Gin, who had been idly hanging about on the outskirts of the battle like an overgrown male Yachiru. At least, apparently. Because what he had actually been doing was using kidou to try and circle everybody up in binding spells. They noticed this when everybody's movements became impended and Aizen brought Soi Fon down half-skewering her.

Unohana caught her as she fell.

Then Kensei's battle with Wonderweiss moved towards Aizen, who was struck by his own Arrancar, whom he proceeded to kick away from him, while Gin started shooting people from a distance. And then the captains fell under the influence of Aizen's shikai and started skewering each other, Ichigo trying frantically to stop them and barely managing. It was, in other words, hell. A hell of confusion and blood and battle, but not enough confusion that one wouldn't be able to tell that they were probably going to lose. And that was when the sky opened and the Zero Division came through.

They were a bunch of slightly uniform 5 people, clad in the black of shinigami everywhere, with various coloured haori and, most notably, wearing masks. Three of the masks were simple, white, oval-shaped things that reminded one of some form of really simplistic theatre. One was a samurai mask that appeared fake enough to be nicked off from the closest souvenir sale. The last of them, though, was a very disturbing Anubis mask with glowing red eyes, which looked almost alive. _Uncanny._ Especially when one noticed that the person who wore it also wore a blood-red haori that matched the eyes. Later, it would become apparent that the haori had writing on it, cursive calligraphic kanji on its back and shoulders with equally disturbing meanings.

The five flashed forward and caught everybody by surprise. They should have perhaps attacked then and there, but there are procedures to be respected and everybody except Wonderweiss and Kensei, fighting somewhere off, stopped to stare.

"We are here on behalf of the King," the person in the Anubis mask said. As far as they could tell by the voice, it was a woman. "I am Shichi, the seventh seat of the Royal Guard. Surrender." She said 'Shichi' strangely, emphasizing both syllables. Shi-Chi. Not a word said in a single breath, like one would expect, but almost two words – was that pause long enough to.... Was it short enough to.... It was a bit like Soi Fon's name – Soifon or Soi Fon, hard to tell.

Now, "shichi", a single syllable, means seven. Except you don't really use that word for that number, because it contains "shi", which means death, so it's a bad omen. People use "nana" instead – it means the same thing and isn't evil omened. This person, however, appeared to like the connection. On her back, she had written her name, or position, or nickname in other kanji than the one for seven. The pronunciation was the same. The vertical writing on her back said "proper place to die", pronounced, of course, "shichi". The character on her left shoulder was "corpse", read "shi" and the one on her right shoulder was "blood", "chi". This was not a person who pardoned the pun. She thrived on it. She thrived on it really badly, if the Anubis mask was anything to go by.

Of course, as expected, Aizen did not surrender, but before he could say that in a cool, majestic manner, Wonderweiss and Kensei whirled through the middle of the crowd again and collided with Yamamoto, pulling him down two dozen feet and ruining the mood. He just said "no" in as much as a pose as possible, then proceeded to attack the nearest captain, shunpo out of the way and confuse everybody with his shikai.

So there was a scramble both to get to Aizen and stop the Seireitei faction from murdering each other, while Gin blew up the area all around them, creating a large amount of smoke, while also shouting something to Wonderweiss, who entered his Resurrection. Shichi rushed to get Aizen, but he'd hidden himself well enough and, by the time she found Aizen and the Zeroes managed to convince the shinigami to stop trying to murder each other, Wonderweiss finished his transformation.

It turned out that he was a banshee. Or at least, it seemed like that, as his body was still human-like, but older and slightly odd in an imprecise manner, and his piercing, rising voice became more and more inhuman. It rose to impossibly high and strong notes, distracting everybody but the traitor faction as it created ripples through reality. Everybody who wasn't Gin or Aizen, Seireitei included, Yamamoto included, Vizards included, Zeroes included, fell on their knees, clutching their ears, only to discover that the damnable sound went through their bodies, in their very cells, trying to rip them apart. Aizen chose that opportunity to get at Ichigo and the boy barely managed to see him in time and duck – the ducking becoming a fall soon enough, since that was easier than making any conscious movement.

Shichi of the Zeroes managed to get up of her own volition, however, and Aizen retreated. Maybe he too had a limit of how much he could bear of the impossible, deafening screech before he found himself affected by it. The Seventh Seat of the Zero Divison lashed out at the screeching Wonderweiss, her hand extended like a claw, delivering four long, bloody scratches across the thing's chest. Wonderweiss's voice failed for a second and it was all that was needed for her own voice to carry out in cursing of the creative kind. Not that anybody could hear her at the moment, the memory of the sound being too loud to even consider anything but temporary deafness.

"Horse's... bloody...." she lashed out against the _creature_ that retreated as fast as it could out of her grasp. "..._thing_... up your _ass_! Shut the fuck up!"

Wonderweiss screeched again, shorter this time and, while not pleasant, definitely not as horrid as before. And then there were Gillian coming through a Garganta. Sometimes, everybody agreed, life could be a bitch. Especially when Wonderweiss screeched again and ran for it, while the Seireitei faction warily looked for Aizen. They took stances against each other, obviously still under the hypnotism, but didn't attack as freely. Shichi pursued the weird Arrancar, only to run into the Gillian, who blocked her way. She swore again. This time, it had something to do with the hollows using their mask noses for self-sexual purposes.

The Zeroes finally managed to convince the Seireitei and Vizard party to stop being idiots and made fast work of the Hollows, but by that time, Wonderweiss had gone the way of Aizen and Gin: missing. The newcomers returned and stopped in front of the now-coming-out-of-their-hypnosis group.

"We were supposed to get them," Shichi said, frustrated. "Sorry. Didn't know they'd run away.... Dammit, I wish those abortion leftovers choked on each other's genitalia, the scumba--Why are you looking at me like that?" It _did_ appear that everybody was sweatdropping in unison. One of the simple-mask people caught her arm and stage-whispered (although, due to a modified perception of volume levels that affected all of them, it was actually a stage-cry),

"Shichi, I think they're being impressed by your descriptive vocabulary that is acting up again."

The Anubis head cocked itself, the snout lowering just a tiny little bit. "...Oh. Um. Well, get used to it. Thing is, they got away. Now we'll have to detail the backup plans. Can anybody take me to Urahara's, wherever that may mean? I'm ordered to go there. You four, go to Seireitei. You with the lacking hand. Soi Fon, right, I saw your files. Come with me, I know a neat trick to cure that dismembration of yours. I'll be in Soul Society as soon as possible, sorry about the lack of chat and all that, let's just pretend we've all known each other for a long time, k?"

Ichigo offered to take her to Urahara's. He was going the same way, after all. The Vizard stayed to take care of their wounded – they would only return at a later time. Soi Fon didn't seem too pleased about the arrangement, but all in all, she was accustomed to taking orders. And the Zero Divison probably qualified as superiors. Besides, Yamamoto gestured that she should go.

* * *

Urahara's shop. The Hueco Mundo party had just returned. Yoruichi had also come back from Seireitei and now they were switching information around Urahara's increasingly infamous table. The cat woman, upon seeing Isane, immediately started looking sad, beat, disgruntled and a few other unfortunate things that weren't usually her. There was no time to lose these days and no reason why several plans shouldn't be employed at the same time, if one could keep track of them. So the act, because it was an act, was done for the 4th division's vice-captain's sake, in the hope of being called away to speak in private about what was ailing the usually very cheerful and strong ex-2nd Division captain. The members of the 4th were perceptive enough and compassionate enough and empathic enough that she might actually be able to pull this off well.

"I have no idea if anything happened," Yoruichi admitted, keeping her voice subdued. Unnaturally subdued. "I didn't catch anything obvious going on, but that doesn't meant that they couldn't have done something less obvious. It's a big place, it's hard to keep tabs on it during the best of times."

"Let's just hope I was wrong," Urahara answered. He noticed her act and recognized it for what it was, but didn't remark upon it. This was Yoruichi. If she needed anything from him, she would ask. Or demand. Especially now that the house was full, plans were made and, incidentally, they had two arrancar, Nel and Grimmjow, sleeping it off in a spare room that acted as both infirmary and detention cell.

The Shinigami were seated around Urahara's table, with the shopkeeper thinking as hard as he could about complications. Did Aizen plan to go back to Las Noches? Did he plan to set camp somewhere else in Hueco Mundo? Or somewhere else, not in Hueco Mundo? What had been the point of everything, anyway? For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what sort of backup Aizen would have or if he would have any. He also wondered if his message had been received and whether the higher-ups were willing to spare anybody as aid for their war effort.

He sighed. Sometimes, he really missed the good old beginner exile days, when nothing much really happened and the greatest problem was where to sleep that night. Right now it felt as if he had started playing multi-layered, multi-boarded chess, with two extra double-edged swords resting in his house, under his supervision. How did Arrancar and Vizard differ?

Eventually, the large group split into little two or three-member groups, speculating amongst themselves. A classic case of turning towards your neighbour and saying "Hey, what if our enemy does...." Urahara turned towards nobody. He thought better alone. But he was eternally grateful that Renji was keeping the mod souls company, and therefore keeping them quiet. Sometimes, even though he would never admit it, it being embarrassing and all, since he'd created them, Ririn, Cloud and Nova were annoying. Very annoying. So annoying that he sent them off by mail 'by mistake' to America every once in awhile.

Yoruichi, he noticed, was approached by Isane. He fell in his thoughts after that and didn't notice much more, dismissing reality as temporarily unimportant.

The cat woman, on the other hand, waited for the vice-captain with as much predatory instinct as her second form would suggest. And still acting. It was ridiculous, but.... She guessed it needed to be done.

"Is there something wrong?" the tall woman asked, right on queue.

"Not.... Not really. Yes. No. Maybe. It's complicated," Yoruichi sighed. Three, two, one, act the part. Show them what they recognize, even if it isn't precisely in character.

"Oh? Do tell. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No," Yoruichi sighed. She had to be careful not to exaggerate with that gesture, even if she was going for a dramatic pose. "It's just that.... Kisuke got himself a lover and … he's not bothering to hide it." Bothering to show it. He should bother more to show it. They needed something flashy to underline the fact that he was, in a fact, romantically involved with the boy. It was such a dumb thing to need to do in the middle of a much more important war, but higher-up stupidity never stopped for anybody. "So I'm not really very cheery right now."

"Oh, my!" There was something to be said about Isane, something that Yoruichi hadn't known before, but which became glaringly obvious. She had a lot of compassion and empathy. More than the norm. And the amount of pain she reflect back to the noble woman was disconcerting. It almost made her sad for herself – and definitely sad about taking advantage of the other woman's need to heal.

"I'll manage, though," said Yoruichi, attempting to look as if she were trying to be brave. She could look brave in a heartbeat, but that wasn't the point. "I know how to make a man come back to me. And Kisuke and I have been together for so long. I can swing him back. But, still. It's annoying, he's so taken with...." She hesitated. Should she drop Ichigo's name now?

"Oh, dear," said Isane, biting her lip. "You know, sometimes, when a person leaves, you should just … let them go, you shouldn't keep waiting for them to come back to you. You're a strong woman, you can handle it, there's no reason to gravitate around...."

Yoruichi listened to her babble and couldn't help but notice that the entire speech seemed to have a very distinct sort of point. Let people go. Don't mope. There's no point in waiting for somebody for a hundred years and become a bitter old woman – and as she heard more and more of the slightly patronizing speech, her acting fell along with her mask and her patience, as she realized exactly what sort of behaviour Isane had in mind. She couldn't pretend to be downbeat any more – her natural state, about Kisuke and especially about Isane, was _annoyance_.

"I am not Soi Fon!" she said, a bit too loud, annoyed and determined.

And the moment she said it, she thought she heard a very peculiar echo of her own words, in a deep voice. She turned round.

* * *

As the group broke into separate conversations, Yoruichi sighing about God knew what in a pathetic manner (she sighed twice! Twice! Who did that?) while talking to Isane in a corner and Ishida explaining Chad's new fighting arm to Orihime, with Chad assisting silently and Mayuri listening to them in a very disconcerting way, while Renji was being taken over by plushies, Byakuya sipped a bit of his tea and considered. He couldn't discuss anything with the shopkeeper at that precise moment of time, so he had to find something else to do. Eventually, he turned to the only other person whom he could talk to right then, which wasn't saying much. It wasn't saying nearly anything at all. Still, Zaraki was a captain and they could be decent to each other.

"Maybe the Zero Division should be alerted," Byakuya said. "Aizen's plans include an attack against the King."

"Yeah. We should tell Yamamoto that." Zaraki didn't seem very interested, but he was listening anyway.

"There are other communication methods with him. I know for a fact that Shihouin Yoruichi can contact a person in the Zero Division. If we can get her to return to Seireitei, she could act as an intermediary for faster communication."

"Yeah? Heh." Zaraki finally paid full attention and let out a sound of amusement. "People have tried to get her to return before. People have tried really hard. She'll just laugh at you when you propose it."

"What do you mean?" Byakuya's voice dropped into the cold, stuck-up tones he used when he was displeased.

"That no matter how you feel, she ain't coming back."

The noble glared and raised his chin in a purely aristocratic, condescending manner. "I am not Soi Fon," he said, stressing every syllable. He felt the words rumbling out, filling the air.

And strangely enough, he could swear he heard the exact same thing come off Yoruichi's lips at the exact same moment. He turned.

* * *

Ichigo, Soi Fon and Shichi were making their way at high speed towards Urahara's shop. The captain felt a bit strange. She'd kept hearing about that place recently, but had never wanted to visit it. Mostly, because Urahara was there and she _despised_ him. But also because Yoruichi could be there and she was both shy and afraid that she would see her actually being happy with the shopkeeper. It wasn't an image she thought she could bare.

But she wasn't the type of woman who would falter under the blows of fate. She was the sort of woman who took life in her own hands. Who was brave. Who faced things, dammit! She was a captain now and a good one. She had no fears whatsoever. She was _Soi Fon_ and that _meant_ something. Yes, being Soi Fon was all about determination and success against odds.

So when they actually landed in front of the shop, she was the one who stepped forward decisively, before the other two could go ahead of her, and walked towards the place with the most reiatsu, determining that it was there that the others would be. She slid open the door with all the majesty she could muster and....

"I am _not_ Soi Fon!"

There was a moment of utter silence as Yoruichi and Byakuya, the two people who had said the very same phrase at the very same time turned towards each other – and saw her standing in the door way.

"What do you mean by that?" she barked, reddening nonetheless, embarrassed. She had taken it as a bad thing the moment she heard it, but as she considered their statement, she had to admit that she had no idea what it could refer to. So really, what _did_ they mean by that?

The two just stared at her. In fact, the whole room stared at her. The silence stretched as somebody tried to think of some excuse to tell her. Neither of the two nobles could come up with anything. Everybody suddenly wondered what if – no, suddenly wished that, wished fervently that Aizen's next move was to attack the Urahara shop right then and there. But the Universe was tired of coincidences for the day and it had decided that it liked embarrassing people, so they were out of luck.

"So," Shichi said, suddenly, from behind her. "Popular, are you?"

The jackal-headed person who came in through the door got them staring even harder, reminding them suddenly of Komamura. She would be his new match and they could have.... Well, that topic ended _right there _as people tried to delete the thought of puppies from their minds. The person promptly grabbed its head and removed it just a second afterwards, revealing that it had been a mask all along and that she was actually a not unattractive dark-red haired woman of about Yoruichi's age. She also had two blood red lines on each of her cheeks.

"Hello," she said. "I am Shichi, the seventh seat of the Zero Division. You may call me Shichi."

"What's up with the mask?" Renji asked, pointing.

A corner of her mouth rose and she threw a very piercing look towards the vice-captain. "Do you like it? We had to take masks so as not to be embarrassed by Aizen's hypnotism abilities. Images are taken in by the mask's eyes, processed into information, split from temperance, then reformed and passed on to our own eyes."

"Everybody else had plainer masks," Soi Fon said, wishing to have her revenge for the 'popular' comment. "Why do you have this ugly thing?"

Shichi turned towards her with what seemed to be a growl. "I'll have you know it's not ugly. It's _amazing_. I made it myself. I _like_ getting creative. Unlike somebody who thinks that hanging her sword in her hair is a good idea."

Soi Fon opened her mouth to reply when, out of the blue, Urahara got up and left the room with Ichigo, neither of them seeming to care about what was going on about them. In fact, they'd ignored the entire crowd entirely. The only consolation for being dismissed like that, Soi Fon thought, was that Shichi hadn't been acknowledged either and she was _new_.

"What just happened?" asked Renji, surprised. "Should we go after them?"

Yoruichi saw her chance to aid in the popularizing of their relationship. If they needed witnesses for Central 46, they'd have them. After all, hoping that Isane was a gossip was working on a small scale. Still, she hadn't expected the two to be as flashy as that. Good move. Good move. She looked like a complete idiot right now and a pitiable person, but still. Good move.

"They're lovers," she said suddenly. "They've been lovers for awhile." An extremely short while, but who was counting?

"What?" asked Zaraki. "How does that work?"

"What do you mean, how does that work?" Yoruichi asked, confused.

"They're both male," Zaraki pointed out unnecessarily. "How does that work?"

Silence across the room as everybody realized that _somebody_ would have to explain. Mortification floated about in a cloud. To explain the mechanics of male to male birds and bees to Zaraki.... Somewhere far, far away, Aizen suddenly felt that he might be a _desired_ god, after all and that he had some serious world-saving to do. Back in Urahara's shop, nobody said anything. Nobody even dared to "errr" or "umm" for fear that he'd be the one to have to explain.

The first to move, in fact, was Byakuya, who cleared his throat, narrowed his eyes slightly and gave every impression of trying to speak, making a lot of people release their breath at the same time.

"Abarai-fukutaichou, please explain this to your former Captain."

Renji froze like a deer in headlights. His eyes darted around, begging somebody, anybody to help him and get this … situation … away from him. No such luck. Nobody wanted to be the one to explain to Zaraki how things went, so he was the sacrificial lamb here.

"Err..." he muttered, reddening. "Err... Anal sex?"

He hoped that solved everything. He kept his eyes firmly glued to the table, not daring to look up, in the hope that it would be enough, that Zaraki would say "ah. Right" and let him off. That the earth would swallow him while. Instead, the captain gave him a _look_. Which he, of course, didn't see.

"Of course," Zaraki said. "Idiot. That wasn't what I was asking."

And that left the room quiet again, but it was a different sort of quiet, a bemused one and then a pondering one. Because if he knew the mechanics, then just what on earth was he asking?

"What do you mean?" asked Renji, finally looking up.

"Well, just thinkin'. Whenever I do that with a woman, she gives up on me after half on hour or so. It starts hurting. So, basically, isn't it troublesome?"

"Half... an hour..." murmured Yoruichi, thoughtfully. Somehow, she'd never imagined Zaraki as the sort of man who lasted that long. She'd never thought of him that way before and that time wasn't exactly short, which meant that....

"Ken-chan is a sex god!" Yachiru cried from behind Zaraki, giggling in her usual manner and interrupting Yoruichi's thoughts at an eerily fitting point. She blinked.

"Shut up, you." The over-scarred captain glared at her. "You don't know what everybody else is doing so you can't compare. And I told you to stop watching me!"

"But Ken-chaaaaan...." she whined, petulantly, as if her favourite show was on and she had been told to go to bed. "And I do know what they're doing, I watch everybody!"

"Well, stop that."

"No!"

As this exchange went on, every shinigami in the room except Shichi, who was far enough away from the trouble to be detached from it, thought back on all the times they did something personal anywhere in Seireitei. And they considered the pink-haired girl. Byakuya was suddenly reminded that the Shinigami Women's Association kept meeting in _his_ house of all places, probably due to Yachiru's suggesting it. And suddenly, the thought made him shiver. He might not have been currently dating anyone, but not even the great Kuchiki heir could stop his own right hand from molesting him. Mind you, that way of putting it is probably an euphemism.

Probably.

"Yeah, well, you still don't know if everybody else is...."

"Yeah, I do! They always finish in ten minutes, Ken-chan!"

"Maybe they want kids."

"No, they don't! Ask them."

The discussion held all the fascination of a detailed explanation of how, when and why people put cameras in your house without your knowing. The shinigami stared. Yoruichi thanked the gods she had left Seireitei a long time ago. Kenpachi looked around the room, his gaze resting on Byakuya, who bore it as unflinchingly as he could and opened his mouth to ask the question. Yachiru shook her head.

"Not him, Ken-chan, he doesn't have sex."

Byakuya's eyes narrowed. He also blushed ever so faintly. Other than that, he kept his cool looks, plotting to throw any Shinigami Women's Association members out of his house once and for all and also to Yachiru-proof his estate. Some things were meant to stay out private business. P-r-i-v-a-t-e. _Private_.

"Oi, Renji," Kenpachi chose his victim, who tried to sink into the ground. "Do you want to have kids whenever you spill it?"

Renji stopped trying to duck underneath a non-existent object of great size and frowned.

"'Course not, Zaraki-taichou. Why would I wanna have kids? I use protection."

"See, Ken-chan?"

"Use prot... Why?" The captain seemed genuinely bewildered. Every shinigami in the room was now feeling the same emotion, actually. This particular day was probably a giddy sort of thing that decided to grab more than its share of worrying events and strange situations.

"So as not to have kids," Renji said, trying to make sense of the increasingly surreal conversation. He missed the good old yesterday when the most bewildering thing around was the pink-haired weird scientist Arrancar. That was something he now felt he could understand.

"No, baka, I mean, why spill at all when you don't wanna have kids in the first place?"

"Because it … feels good." Oh, ye gods, surely Kenpachi didn't need to be told about orgasms!

"But you don't need to … you can't _not _know that. Surely you others have to know _that_. It's not really something _difficult_ to figure out, after all. Well, maybe a bit hard to _do_ it, but.... Nobody?"

"Zaraki-taichou," Byakuya said, at last, deciding that the thing had gone on long enough and somebody needed to take care of it – and that he was probably the only person there who could untangle the mess. "What _are_ you talking about?"

"You don't need to spill to feel good. You can feel even better without it. And it lasts as long as the girl can take it. But come on, Byakuya, you had to know.... No?..."

The room looked at Zaraki in various states of incredulity. Well, all except Yachiru, who was jumping about, saying something akin to 'I told you so'. The most battle frenzy-happy Captain in the Gotei 13 then proceeded to give a sex ed lecture. Just because it was a unique sort of day.

"Look," he said. "It ain't hard to get. You just don't spill it. You save it, to make you stronger."

"I like ... _spilling_ better," Renji muttered. Zaraki laughed out loud.

"Really? Baka, you never knew you could not spill. Idiots. A roomful of ya people and not one knew. And I thought _my_ reiatsu control was bad."

"Ken-chan is a seeeex god," Yachiru giggled again. Apparently, she liked that phrase. "And pineapple-chan's ex-girlfriend with the yellow hair said so too...."

"What?" Renji asked, head bobbing up in horrified shock.

"Shut up, Yachiru." Zaraki said. "We agreed never to talk about people I take home with me."

"You know," Shichi said, suddenly grabbing Soi Fon's arm very cheerfully and dragging the other woman into a sort of aside. "I love this place already. Is it always so much fun?"

Soi Fon considered pricking her with Suzumebachi once or twice.

* * *

Before Soi Fon had come, Urahara had stopped paying much attention to the discussions going on around him. He wanted, no, needed … needed a vacation. And something else. He couldn't figure out what it was. It wasn't sweets. It wasn't revenge. It wasn't a shoulder to cry on. It wasn't a fight. He was still upset, trying to sort out his life and instead of his usual slow, careful, meditative pace, he now found himself amidst all the insanity that he never wanted. He was not the sort of person to crave agitation, to always want something to do. He felt best when nothing was rushed.

He wanted his slowness back, his time to _think_ and consider. He wanted many things.

He barely registered Yoruichi and Bykuya saying something in tandem, but rose his eyes to see who had come in – it was Soi Fon. A lot of people looked shocked, for some reason. Well, he was a bit surprised himself, never having expected her to be there, seeing that she hated him. She was also missing a hand, he saw belatedly.

Right behind her came a person with a dog-like head and a haori that he realized he knew a bit too well. Red, kanji on it … when she removed the mask, he saw it was indeed _her_, Shichi of the Zero Division and if there was one thing Urahara didn't need to consider much to come to a conclusion about, it was that she was not the thing he was lacking. In fact, she was the thing he most definitely wasn't lacking. It wasn't that he _disliked _her. Nobody disliked Shichi. Not really. Not if they wanted to be certain of being alive the next morning. Mind you, he'd never heard of her hurting anybody because of personal reasons, but then again, who wanted to risk? "She's ... trigger-happy ... weird-joke and sadistic-joke happy ... and curse-happy. In that order." That was Shincho's description of her from a long time ago, but shinigami had long lifespans in which they had the luxury of changing very little. As far as he remembered, she also had a passion for languages that got her confused at times.

But before he could dwell on the bad sides of her being there, he saw Ichigo, pretty much unscathed, looking very youthful, very strong, very proud. Urahara felt his stomach jump into his throat and drag his heart with it. He entirely forgot about his entire inner rant concerning the things he missed. What he really wanted right now was to take the younger man away into his bedroom. True, by doing that he'd possibly put himself in a very unpleasant position, too, seeing that the recent events still bothered him quite a lot, but he was willing to explore himself with Ichigo's help. He wanted to see if he was still in one piece, to be safe and warm and affectionate. To have things right again, so he would have something to hang on to while he pulled himself back to normality, while he gathered back his calm and introspection, his own self. To caress the boy and cuddle with him and just be close to him. To replace the bad memories with new ones. Good ones.

Ichigo caught his eye and the shopkeeper realized that he had been staring and wanting, that his mask had slipped. He scanned the room very quickly and saw that Shichi was introducing herself – thank God for the small mercy of that woman always catching attention – and threw Ichigo a half-smile and a gesture meant to invite him away.

Ichigo was a bit surprised, then, uncertainly looked to see if everybody else, especially the Hueco Mundo party, was there and fine. Urahara made a reassuring gesture. Ichigo nodded very, very slowly. The older man got up and got out, the younger following in his wake.

"What is it?" Ichigo asked, reminded suddenly of another time, so similar to this, when he had been singled out from his peers by the shopkeeper. And, as they went into the blond's bedroom and soft lips pressed on his own, the feeling of deja vu amplified.

"They can wait," Urahara whispered, circling his arms around Ichigo. "It's so rash of me, there's Byakuya there and that Shichi, why her of all people...."

"You know her?"

"Old acquaintance. But leave it for now, it can wait. Everything can wait. Please."

Ichigo's lips pulled away from his own and the young man lowered his head. "You have no hold on me now," he said, slowly. "Nothing to blackmail me with. And I'm quite sure I'm in love with Rukia. I wasn't sure before, but I am now."

The words cut through the air like a cold knife, freezing the shopkeeper. So soft, so delicate. So cruel and harsh in their meaning. He'd meant to be with him, but now, instead, the fire of his passion died a quick death. He pulled back a bit. No. He had no hold on the boy. No blackmail. Nothing. He let go, arms falling to his sides and then pulled back even more. Ichigo was right there, right in front of him, but he was untouchable. And he had pulled him away and tried to have his way with him – and wasn't allowed to. He should have known that. He should have known that he had _no _right. And now no hold, either. Urahara's stricken face recomposed itself difficulty, but ended in his trademark smile. That smile was always there. Always at his disposal. Too much at his disposal.

As was his acting. More than a century of toying with appearances made him a master in faking them.

He fell down on his knees, hands on the floor in a gesture of apology, head bowed. Dramatic. Too dramatic. Dramatic enough to make it seem trivial.

"Of course, Kurosaki-san," he said. His voice didn't waver. He almost felt proud of himself. Almost. He realized, and it came as a shock, that there was a frustrated tear ready to fall from his eye. His control over his eye glands just weren't the same, it seemed. Not as before Aaoyama. "I apologize profoundly. Shall we go back?"

"Why?"

Urahara raised his head and cocked it to one side. "Don't you want to go back?" The tear was still in his eye, making half his vision foggy, but invisible to Ichigo. Small miracles. Thank the gods for small miracles. He _wouldn't_ cry. Ever.

"Not that. Why are you doing this? This ... blackmailing me, seducing me sort of thing."

"Haven't I said it yet? I find myself very much attracted to you."

"Somehow you don't strike me as the sort of person who'd try to jump start a relationship by blackmail. I've thought about it. Jeez, it's as if you were helpless in this, too. As if you were blackmailed. And there's something weird about-"

"You'll find out soon enough anyway, I guess," the shopkeeper cut him off. "And there's no more hiding it now. Soon there won't be a soul in Seireitei not to know of it. You should be warned."

"Of what? Jeez, can't you say anything straight for once?" Ichigo was still leaning against the wall, frustrated.

"Kurosaki-san.... They have reformed Central 46 with new members. Who are very afraid of what happened to the old members happening to them. They see you as a threat. They pretty much want you out of the picture."

"What?! And what does that have to do with anything?!"

"According to a royal decree, I and all lovers that I may have, and by the way that is almost a direct quote, have immunity from Seireitei's legal system."

Ichigo stared. Urahara lowered his eyes. Well. The cat was out of the bag. In a very unpleasant way. He'd hoped for more, he'd counted on more – more time with Ichigo, more chances, more.... Just _more_, he guessed. He saw the dark material of the boy's clothes rustle ever so slightly as he shifted from one leg to another, possibly trying to understand what this all meant. The thought occurred to him that no matter how much _more_ he'd get, he'd still want more. He'd _gotten_ more that time when Ichigo had _him_.

"You did it to save me," Ichigo said, at last. "The blackmail, the hurry, everything.... You knew I wouldn't abandon Orihime."

"Yes."

Urahara saw him walk away, but didn't move. However, Ichigo didn't walk out the door. He heard him sit on the futon, possibly lean against the wall. That cat was out of the bag. So now it was over.

"My first time was a pity fuck. And here I was, thinking maybe I was some sort of distraction to you, but no, it was a pity fuck."

Urahara flinched. "No."

"What do you call it, then?"

The shopkeeper was silent. He hadn't decided yet. The noble thing to do, he supposed, was to pretend he had no feelings for the boy. That it had been a favour, and then it had also been his insatiable lust, so it paid out. That way Ichigo would never feel compelled to either thank him – or indeed offer what he had so lightly called a "pity fuck". Urahara had his pride. Somewhere. He was sure of that.

"I wouldn't call it that," he replied. "I enjoyed it. I think the point in pity fucks is that you don't."

Silence. Urahara wondered if he should turn to actually see Ichigo while they had this conversation. But right now, the wall seemed much friendlier. He rearranged his position to sit more comfortable, still with his back to Ichigo. He didn't want to see what was in his eyes. He just wanted it over with, if that was where it was headed.

"So did I," the younger man answered finally. "It bugs me, but I did." The shopkeeper's heart lightened a bit. Well. At least he really had made it worthwhile. "I like women." The last was declared, affirmed just a bit too forcefully, demanding a confirmation almost. "I'm in love with Rukia. She's awesome. _I know_ I'm in love with her. I want her."

Ah. Hearing this speech, Urahara finally did turn and smiled, amused, "And I've been in a relationship with Yoruichi for the past hundred years. If we're confessing."

Ichigo jumped a bit, his eyes widening.

"No way! And what does she think of this?"

"I don't think she's _happy_ about it, but she's very accepting, all in all."

"Oh. Erm. So this means … I have to keep sleeping with you?"

Urahara sobered. "Not if you don't want to," he said. "We can … come to arrangements. I have enough footage to recycle to make it seems as if we'd slept together more often than we really have. We can also do some … minor … things that can be recorded on tape and give the appearance of freshness to any edit of-"

"Stop, will ya?" Ichigo blushed. "You're going about it in a very, dunno, clinical way. I mean, I guess that all you did it for was to save me, but even so, I just--I don't know, stop!"

He blushed even more fiercely and the blond realized that he could just let Ichigo's heart break right now, admitting that his first time wasn't as special as it had seemed. He could do that and save him a head ache later. Or he could throw an entirely new dimension to his trouble. A thought came to him, unbidden, reminding him that sometimes the noble way out wasn't the best way out. _What would Yoruichi do? _demanded the thought. Well, she would state the truth and to hell with the consequences. This wasn't something that needed careful planning and cunning schemes. This was about getting the thing, or in this case, person, you wanted. Let the can of worms be opened.

"I did do it just to save you," he said, suddenly feeling a lot calmer. This decision made him feel _right_. "Otherwise I'd never have acted on my desires."

Ichigo's scowl had deepened immensely, only to slowly be replaced by a confused frown.

"It isn't love," Urahara said. "I think that I've said this before. I don't know if I said it to you. I know love. This is lust. And care. I might even be in love. I know that I want you, though. I want you safe, I want you in my bed, I want you in my life. Do with that what you will, I won't impose it on you."

Ichigo stared. Then, he repeated himself, "You have no hold on me. You have nothing to blackmail me with."

"I know that. I won't do it again."

"Good. Now. Er. Then I'm doing this 'cause I want you. I wanted to get here. I wanted you to know that. Er. Should I go there or will you come here?"

Urahara's brows rose slightly, then, as he realized where this was going, _he_ rose, walked to the young man, sat down again and, without knowing which of them leaned forward first, they kissed, a long, slow, lingering kiss. Ichigo's hand knocked his hat away and tangled in his hair.

"What about Yoruichi?" he asked, pulling back, feeling slightly guilty. "Won't she...?"

"If you want, I can ask her to come hold a candle," Urahara's voice rumbled slightly, disturbed at the interruption. "She might even enjoy that."

"Shut up."

So the blond shut himself up with another kiss, their mouths touching and caressing each other, Ichigo's teeth nibbling on his lower lip gently, lingeringly. Urahara's hand tangled in the younger man's hair, drawing him closer as the man grew more demanding. He felt elated to discover that he could do this, so casually, so painlessly, that it felt _good_. In this madness in which time seemed to expand to capture the events of months in days, could it be possible to heal the greater part of himself so quickly? But this felt not only right, but normal, while _that_ felt like a nightmare that has past. The thing about things you couldn't bear, Urahara thought, was that you bore them anyway, since you couldn't escape them. And then you had to face the memories, but memories are duller than the real thing. Especially when you decide that you are a strong, vengeful, pissed off Death God who can do something about it.

It wasn't clear how to either of them, but their limbs and clothes tangled as they both decided, almost at the same time, that there was too much material between them and they needed to feel the other's skin, to touch freely, to explore their bodies again. Soon enough, though, their untangling got them naked and that was all that mattered. Well, almost all, since when Urahara tried to push the younger man down, he met with resistance.

"Can't I be on top?" Ichigo asked, awkwardly.

"No," the reply came, a bit too fast, too snapping. The boy flushed deep red.

"Was I that-?"

As he realized just what sort of trail of thought that would lead to, the shopkeeper cut him off. "No. I had an accident. That is all."

"An _accident_? What sort of an _accident _can you possibly have...."

"Let's not talk about it now." He seemed to be doing a lot of cutting off, but he couldn't help it. "There is a time and a place for everything. And while this might not be the best of times to sleep together, seeing that at least two of my guests downstairs are waiting expressly to talk to me, I can assure you it is even _less_ the time to discuss anything beyond what is here and now between us."

"Two guests?"

"Byakuya and Shichi. Now shut up and let me make you feel good. Lie down or I'll make you lie down." And then, hesitantly, realizing how that sounded, "Well, you won't regret it either way."

Ichigo tried to stop a smile and failed. "As you wish."

This time, Urahara took his time. The first fire of neediness, of desperation had washed over and his head was just clear enough so he would allow himself to go slow, to use all his art and, most especially, to tease. If there was one thing he had the natural inclination and the greater talent for, it was teasing. And Ichigo would realize soon enough that this wasn't going to be the inconsiderate taking of a few days ago. The realization probably struck when he discovered how incredibly erotic it was to have a wet tongue tracing intricate patterns on your upper body, heightened with light or less light nibbling at the most surprising moments and truly sunk itself into his consciousness when Urahara decided to unexpectedly take his entire length inside his mouth. And there are things to be noted about a mouth that only come to mind in such moments: it is wet. And warm. And very, very soft and silky. The tongue can caress in most creative ways. And whenever its owner wishes it, it can suck.

The younger man bucked into Urahara's mouth and one of the blond's hands came to rest on his hip, pinning him down gently but firmly, while the other somehow found a way to cooperate with that amazing mouth into driving him insane. Well, the first hand didn't succeed much in its restraining, seeing that Ichigo's body took a mind of its own, straining for more.

The hand that had been working in tandem with the mouth slid down and a finger probed his entrance. He found the feeling not so strange as much as arousing and he squirmed, pulling at Urahara's hair and letting out some more or less coherent words.

As for the blond, he usually found the power he could have over his lovers intoxicating and this time was no exception. Being in control, imparting pleasure like this had a grounding effect on him. He felt strong. He felt good. The fear instilled by Aaoyama was still there, but now _he_ held the cards and there was nothing to be afraid of. He had the power. He could _please_. And as he moved forward with the preparation, his satisfaction at seeing Ichigo lose his head over him gave him all the confidence he could need.

Deciding at last that the prelude was pretty much over, since neither of them could stand it any longer and he had done all possible to make sure Ichigo was ready for the next stage, he slowly, carefully penetrated him and was much too satisfied to discover that the younger man's only reaction was that of enjoyment. He thrust a few times, tentatively, to make sure all was fine and, upon discovering that it was, he let go of his precaution and abandoned himself, not to a frenzy, but to a flowing rhythm, to an intoxication of the senses that was not desperate and hard, but sweet – a passion that manifested itself through the intensity of every gesture, through a trembling that might or might not have been physical. His movements were anything but regular, yet they seemed to speak of a harmony all of their own, not like the beat in the background of a song, but like the melody itself, rising, falling, sometimes shallow, sometimes deep. And when he felt himself closing in towards the final accords, he did not forget to bring the other man with him.

* * *

Sometime later, when the lover duo still hadn't come out, Yoruichi was sitting between Shichi and Byakuya on the porch, staring at the rather unimpressive sight of the ground. It was about the only thing to do. Everybody else had either left or found some occupation by then and she was left entertaining the two guests who wanted to speak with Urahara. If there was one thing he had chosen badly right now, it was the timing. Still, Shichi seemed content with the wait, a smile playing on her lips. Byakuya seemed thoughtful. In fact, Yoruichi herself was thoughtful. If the Seventh Seat was here, it wasn't a can of worms that had just been opened, but a basement full of them. She wasn't sure what exactly those worms might be, because she wasn't sure what exactly Shichi represented, but some events 80 years prior suggested she was _something_.

"Soooo," Yoruichi said, deciding that it was time to say something, anything, to get things moving. She wouldn't comment upon the woman, of course, since she wasn't an idiot. To her surprise, however, Byakuya cut her off.

"We need more co-operation than we previously had."

"Yes," Yoruichi agreed.

"Are you talking to me, too?" Shichi asked. "Because I have a separate agenda and won't be hanging around much."

Well, the cat woman thought, she'd been right. "Oh?"

"Classified information. But we're not here to make common front. We're on your side, but we have some clearly defined purposes here in which Seireitei doesn't need to get involved."

"But Kisuke does?" Yoruichi asked, mildly surprised.

"He is a discreet man who knows how to keep an eye on everything. He doesn't ask questions. Those are very important traits, methinks. Well, I'm off to stretch my legs, I haven't been to the real world for a long time and I'm dying to buy some music. If he happens to, well, disentangle himself from the red head before I'm back, please tell him that I wish to speak with him. And if he worries, then reassure him calm, please. It's nothing bad."

With that, she left. Yoruichi frowned. Byakuya cocked his head. He couldn't figure out what Shichi could possibly want with the shopkeeper, either, but the other noble seemed downright puzzled and frustrated. It wasn't like her, as far as he remembered her. She had more patience. And more trust. And she was discreet herself, so surely she couldn't be sore about Shichi keeping her secrets. Yet, with every passing second, her frown deepened until it became a full frustrated scowl. This wasn't like her. Even if she felt those emotions, she should hide them and not show her bewilderment to the world. One had to school their expression very carefully when it came to stumbling upon other people's plans.

"Byakuya," she said at last.

"Yes?"

"There's a question I need to ask you about what she said."

He felt uncomfortable. They shouldn't be discussing this. Not here. Not like this. This was why he disliked her. She had no decorum. She had no feeling of what it meant to be a noble. She was improper. Irresponsible. There were things she should be discreet about, they should talk about them quietly. Act according to their status. Why couldn't she get that? She had a responsibility! "What is it?"

"Damn, this is so embarrassing." She sighed. "But really, I can't figure it out. Maybe you can. Is "reassure him quiet" actually a _correct_ phrase? I _know_ that "the dog barked him awake" is correct, but "reassure him calm"?... Is it the same structure? It sounds so weird."

Byakuya stared at the ground in front of him, a very deep part of his mind assuring him that he was, in fact, a presupposing fool. He dismissed that part of his mind, as he always did. After pondering on her question for a minute, though, the elegant, knowledgeable man wore an expression of displeasure himself as he had to quietly admit that he wasn't quite sure, either.

* * *

**Final AN: **There. Done. Yay! I'd like to note a few things here:

1) The lines about people not daring to dislike Shichi made me giggle at the thought of self-made Mary Sues. "Love me or _die_".

2) "Reassure him calm" might actually be a correct phrase in English. I have no idea what the equivalent grammatical oddity would be in Japanese, but I'm sure they have one. In English, this is a resultative, in other words, a phrase of the "The dog barked him awake" variety, as Yoruichi mentionde. I know this because there's this horrid course you have to take in university when you're majoring or minoring in English which is called "linguistics" (or in our case, misnamed "Contemporary English Language") in which you learn these things. However, another one of the examples we got for this strange type of sentence was "You may sleep the baby quiet again." That sounds not only grammatically wrong, but also creepy-wrong to me. And when researching to see if this was as I'd remembered it, I also ran into "She cooked them into premature death". Now I feel physically ill. Eurgh. Cannibals. Beware of linguists! They're repressed psychos!

3) Um. Sorry about the OC cast, but really, I'm getting the Soul King involved in this and he can't be all alone in showing up, ya know?

Well, see ya soon, I hope! And don't forget to **review**, it encourages me to actually get off my lazy bum and start typing!


	10. Tick Tack Time

Disclaimer: If it were suddenly mine, I'd marvel. And the art would go bad very quickly. Sorry, but that's the truth. Ah, well. I don't own Bleach and am grateful to Tite Kubo for coming up with it.

* bolds the key words for paragraphs*

AN: **Sorry, sorry,** sorry, sorry, sorry! I know it's been a _very_ long time, but RL was.... well, wow. And then I got writer's block. And then I wrote badly. And then more writer's block. And then RL and then.... You get the point. I didn't mean to disappear off to nowhere like that! And I've been writing this chapter for a month now, adding a bit every now and then, even in the period when I wrote a single paragraph a day (which eventually turned out to be a bad one. Every day). I feel guilty.

Anyway, the idea of a **Villain Song** belongs to many people and many movies. I just wanted to do something crazy like that. Oh, the Captioned Words Thing might or might not occur every once in awhile and might or might not be something I picked off of TV Tropes (the site).

The pie thing is a reference to **Nostalgia Critic**'s "11 Most Awkward Christopher Walken Moments". If you don't know who the Nostalgia Critic is, you should find out immediately. Googling is good. Wikipedia, too.

Also, I have created a yahoo! group for **audiobooks made after fanfiction**. Anybody welcomed to download/upload any audio of any fanfic of any fandom there. Link: http: // groups. yahoo. com/ group/ fanaudios/

Don't forget to remove the spaces.

**Thanks** to all those who favorite this story or add an alert to it. It's really nice to see that there's so many of you (71 currently) who follow it. It's also interesting to see the review/hit/favorite/alert proportions.

I'm also a big fan of the stats by country. Apparently, there's people here from Romania, who aren't actually me or my friend (I keep getting a strange feeling when that happens, wondering whether they're somebody I know who isn't letting on), and there was somebody from Japan, a person who probably clenches their teeth every time I accidentally rape an aspect of their culture or life or just any aspect of Japan, really (sorry! Really sorry!) And somebody from Latvia, a country which I considered most exotic and unheard-of until I wiki-ed it and discovered I knew it, but its English name didn't really resemble the Romanian one (Latvia vs. Letonia – how was I to know? Whence does this difference come from? The mind boggles)

Before you think that any other fan work I may be doing is interfering with the posting of this fic.... It really isn't so. It was just a hard, long chapter to write.

**Chapter 10: Tick Tack Time **

**(or, The One In Which Several Relevant Things are Explained)**

"Let go of me! Hey, I said _let. Me. Go_!..." Pause, as he considered another strategy. "Urahara, you bastard--release me! _Now_! I'll kill that Aaoyama bastard!"

The shopkeeper sighed and continued the search for his elusive underwear. It was dark and he didn't want to turn on the lights, lest somebody decided that was the perfect signal to come inside the room. He didn't really want to put clothes on, true, and he wasn't sure he was planning on leaving the room yet. Outside there be monsters. In the shape and form of Soi Fon and Shichi and Byakuya – the last of which was there by his own request. But he didn't want to go through the ordeal of talking to them right now. He wanted a few more minutes, but now he just felt the need to _linger_. An _afterglow_, as opposed to wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am. Drop the ma'am, though, before Ichigo gets wind of it. It fit the situation like a bull in a china shop.

However, despite his intentions to just relax and pretend that the world wasn't waiting outside, he simply had to wear something as soon as possible. He found the sight of Ichigo fuming against him and struggling with all his might in a bakudou strangely arousing and an erection was the last thing the kid needed to see right now. Well, true, Ichigo _could_ be convinced that the said sight was exactly the sort of sight he needed right now, true, explanations were still in order, as well as a heart-to-heart about people, especially certain red-haired young men, their responsibilities, and things that really _weren't _their responsibilities, such as some blond person's intimate matters, that were only open to him and those very, very close to him.

Which brought the next set of troubling considerations to the front of Urahara's mind. What _did _he have with the young man? Where was this unnameable thing going? He didn't know, no matter how he looked at it. Was Ichigo going to be a friend and partner? A lover, like Yoruichi was? Or the way she used to be? Was. Used to.... Gods, he didn't even know where he stood with _her_. But either way, this was getting intimate. Initially, Urahara had thought that emotional distance was a good thing for both of them. That he could sleep with him and then get detached. Well, the fact that he hadn't thought he'd really get another chance might have added to the certainty of those thoughts, to his decision not to offer the younger man the use of his first name.

He wished everything would be clear, and his house empty, and Aizen six feet under and Seireitei keeping itself to itself and Shichi being nothing more than a correspondent and occasional visitor currently far, far away. If it had been that way, Urahara would have been more than happy to abandon his search for his other clothes (underwear having been found and put on by now) and he'd have snogged Ichigo senseless, released him and had his way with him. Again.

He couldn't help his drive. He was a sensual, perverted, handsome shopkeeper. It was even on his unofficial greeting cards. He wanted the younger man again and again and wondered idly how much would be needed to sate him, even for a short while. As it was, he still wanted the red haired young man, who was crying out at him to release him, which demand, by the way, needed a response.

"I can't," Urahara said, not looking at him, although seeing him struggle from the corner of his eye. He wanted to turn on the lights, just to see him better. Irate Ichigo – now, why did that excite him? He smiled from the corner of his lips, thinking of the red-head's reaction were he to be released that very instant. "Not until you promise to stay put. My, you can't just go after Aaoyama like that, after all, you'd forget your sword here and your kidou skills are inexistent...."

"What the.... Is that some sort of a joke?!" Yes, Urahara thought. It is. Mind you, not a very good one, but still. Identifiable. "I'd never forget my sword! Besides, I can and I_ will_ go after him, you can't keep me here _forever_."

"Now, now, relax, will you? What sort of a person would you be if you actually went off to kill him in that state? Ichigo, revenge really isn't you. Well, I guess hot-headed protective reactions are, howev--"

"He can't be let go like this. Why the hell don't _you_ go after him? Why won't you let _me _go after him! I'll...."

Urahara let out a theatrical sigh and put on a green piece of garment that turned out not to be pants, after all, so he would simply have to wear it on the upper part of his body, as it was meant to be worn. Gah. Clothes. He'd have to invent some that sorted themselves out in near-darkness. "You'll do nothing whatsoever. He's working for the Central 46. And if you interfere with them, it gets bad."

"I can't just stay here and do nothing!"

"Yes, you can. That's why I have you under a binding spell. And even if I can't keep you here forever, I can keep you for _long enough_. And have my wicked way with you oftener, I guess. It's a fantasy fulfilled!"

Ichigo struggled some more, trying to release himself and grumbling against weird old teachers. He almost managed to get a bit of the spell off of himself. Urahara reinforced his bakudou, making the younger man cry out with rage. My, my, he thought. What truly _remarkable _will! Ichigo simply _had_ to be admired for his astonishing skills at defeating any sort of obstacle placed in front of him. Alright, those thoughts felt slightly too corny, even for a mildly insane shopkeeper. It took so much stubbornness to develop that kind of fight against restraint. Well, his mind went on, decidedly less corny and a lot more reluctant, it bode badly, since he'd have to get the kid to give up revenge and thus had to fight against the stubbornness. Outside there be dragons. Inside there be a pretty fiery dragon, too.

"You know what?" Ichigo snapped, going into the 145th strategy of getting let go. "I hate them, I hate your protection, I hate everything. I'll renounce it and go after the bastard. We can't just let them...."

"You'll do no such thing. The shinigami like you, but Central 46 does not. They will order your arrest and probably your death. And then we shall have people taking sides and confusion in Seireitei and nobody wants that. Not in the middle of the war."

"Fuck Central 46!" Urahara looked at him in the dark and scratched his head as images of the 46, old, wrinkled, ugly and pompous came to him unbidden.

As the literal meaning of the words came into collision with the other images, a Mental Image was formed. The blond grimaced. It was a Mental Image which shall be ignored for hereon. "Really? Are you going to ask Yamamoto and the Kuchikis, as well as Soi Fon and many others to _fuck Central 46,_ too? Blow them away?" And _that_ he had done on his own. Gah! Mental image. Mental image! Brain bleach. "It would be very messy" _Mental effing image_. Messy Central 46 fucked by.... Not going there. Not going there.

Too late. The Revenge of the Perverted Images was in full swing.

"I don't give a shit. I'll fight against them!"

Trying to push the images of half-naked wrinkly old members molested by Yamamoto, Soi Fon, Kuhikis and Zaraki, Urahara put an arm over the restrained body of his younger lover. He wanted to just let him go, really. He didn't have a fetish for binding. He never had it, and after the recent events he pretty much hated the idea of both being tied up _and_ having somebody else at his mercy. But he enjoyed Ichigo's passion, his will, his wildness. His inner fire, burning with such high flames. It was so great, so strong and wild. "Ah, Ichigo. So youthful. So attractive.... So stupid. You can't beat the world by force." But he sometimes looked as if he might just be able to, if given half the chance. It was that look that was probably Urahara's undoing.

"Shut up. Stop mocking me." Ichigo ceased struggling, probably realizing that getting out of bakudou wasn't the easiest thing in the world. He was still very upset, but he'd grown a bit tired. Screaming, raging, kicking and pulling at your restraints for quite an amount of time was a good way to get less rash.

"I'm not, actually. I'm positively in love with your temper. And I assure you, I am not calm about these things myself. However, I'm not going to take out my sword and skewer Aaoyama. If I were to do that, it would be revenge. People would agree that I was wronged, but would they agree with my vendetta?"

Ichigo scowled. He seemed calmer, though, now that he realized Urahara was both aware that a grave injustice had been done and that he was actually talking to him. "Who cares?! Jeez. He _did those things to you_." Urahara found it strangely delightful that Ichigo didn't put a name on the events, even if all that had been told to him was just the basic rape, with all of the really fucked up details edited out. In fact, he'd edited them off of the videos, too. Deleted them forever, hoping to cleanse his own mind, but not really managing. Hell, what sort of a fucked up.... No, Ichigo would never know. It was his secret. And Yoruichi's.

He felt weary again, and dirty. Sick to his stomach.

The thought that he still wanted her, as a lover, came to mind, offering him an answer when he really wasn't expecting one. She was his Yoruichi, the one who could think so much like him. They fit like a hand and a glove and even though he'd just gotten out of Ichigo's bed, he realized he wanted to climb into hers for a different feeling, for a different understanding. He wanted her to be there, to offer herself to him as she knew how so well, to allow him to seek comfort and to not comment upon the fact that he was still bleeding on the inside, that he was hanging on by a thread at times. She was as himself. That was why she knew the entire tale and Ichigo did not.

He wanted them both. Was he allowed it? He didn't want to have to choose.

But, again, no time for falling into the dark pit that his soul was seeming to turn into. He had to keep sane. Keep functioning as usual. And hold those things back until the world was safe.

Yes, he was repressing. He had no clue what effect that would have in the long run, but he was sure to find out.

He smiled at Ichigo, realizing he had been spacing out for half a minute there.

"Now, now. Silence and listen. Not everybody would agree with my actions. Also, it would have the disadvantage of not having any extra advantages attached. In other words, it would lead nowhere. I could, indeed, kill Aaoyama.... There's no reason for you to look at me like that. It is, in fact, a course of action I _did_ consider. The fact that he managed to have the upper hand in that instance was only due to my idiocy. You realize that, right, Ichigo? Don't say no, please. Good. I can guarantee that it won't happen a second time. Now, I will use this to strike not only against him, but against the Central 46. Not only against the man who raped me, but against those who employed him in the first place. The ones because of whom I had to leave Seireitei in the fist place – perhaps not because of the individuals, as such, but definitely because of them as a group, because of what the Central 46 is and has been for such a long time."

Urahara decided then that he wanted Ichigo to hear the word 'rape' and learn to use it when necessary, even if his blush when he heard it was endearing. Words had power. Especially words with a context, like that one, which would bring down Seireitei bureaucracy, if the blond had anything to do with it. Which he did. And, besides, he discovered he almost desperately wanted to be understood, at least partially. Have things in the open. "And I will use it to help your case, too. Trust me, Aaoyama will run when the waters are ruffled and he will try to get his trace lost when I'm done with the juridical system. He'll want to go far, far away. It is then, when he will wish to disappear, that I will make sure he disappears for good. But this will happen _after_ he will be my tool."

He leaned down and tried to gaze into Ichigo's eyes. It was a bit difficult, seeing that there wasn't much light to go by, but he felt that he managed it well; that the boy wouldn't run off and do something foolish while Urahara was tearing the world apart. He didn't generally reveal his plots, in pretty much the same way he didn't reveal his inmost thoughts, but there were times when he felt a certain delight at doing so. For example, now, to this red-haired youth who was watching him wide-eyed, realization dawning like the Sun from the sea.

"Do you feel my intention to kill in my words?" he asked, hoping Ichigo caught the reference. And apparently, he did, because he could hear his breath hitch. Yes, this ex-captain was not a weakling, but a deadly, toying mastermind. And don't you forget it. "Good. I do not require your protection. I am capable of taking care of myself. As you are of taking care of yourself. Can I release you now without you bolting to kill my plot point?"

Ichigo nodded slowly and was let go. He got on his knees, rubbing his arms to get the feeling of reiatsu ropes off his skin. Urahara embraced him softly, carefully and kissed in a slow, gentle manner, almost apologetic for having deprived him of movement for that short while. Their lips barely touched before he pulled away. It was possibly just his own paranoid thoughts, but he didn't want to seem to be imposing his sexuality on Ichigo when he was weakened. He didn't want to have anything to do with the likes of Aaoyama, who took advantage of whatever chance they had. So unless Ichigo had a fetish for it, he wouldn't bring up the subject of bondage, or go too far in cases like this. Oh, in a battle, in a real struggle, on the training grounds, after they knew each other well enough, overpowering him and claiming his reward was definitely on. Both parties willing and all that. Like him and Yoruichi. Right now, however, he kept his distance and waited for feeling to return to Ichigo's limbs entirely.

"You understand why I don't want to be on the receiving side anytime soon, though, don't you?"

The younger man's shoulders tensed and Urahara watched him carefully, studying the play of expressions on his face. The rage came back, the desire to rush after Aaoyama and tear him to pieces.... But then, he forced himself to calm down.

"Yeah," he answered, softly, his shoulders slumping a bit.

"Good." The shopkeeper patted him fondly. He wanted to add something to that, to show his appreciation for Ichigo's getting it, but everything he could think of would sound corny, cliché, and from the 'young grasshopper' domain of lines, so he abandoned his intention.

"How did you end up having protection from the Soul King, anyway?"

"Oh. That. Long story." So much for not being a handbook of conversational clichés.

"We have time."

Urahara's eyebrows rose. Time? The major commodity he'd been complaining of in the previous period? They had _Time_? "Since when?! No, wait. Don't answer that. Fine. I'll tell you. 80 years ago, I was doing research on space, or more exactly, on spacial connections, bridges between two point of space. Like gargantas, if you like. Uniting the here with the there by a distance shorter than drawing a straight line. I chose to go to Siberia for research because it was a vast land with very little population and therefore there would be no problem hiding failed experiments. I had underground quarters, incidentally, which in hindsight might not have been the best idea, since my experiments kept bringing down everything on me. Of course, I didn't realize that it was the _experiments_ until I had the roof and the snow down on me for the umpteenth time. I have failures too, I guess."

Ichigo was frowning and the blond wondered if he really was a good story teller, or if he'd managed to confuse his audience single-handedly. "Right, so, you were researching gates from world to world and bringing the house down. That it?"

"Yes. Except it can be gates from this world to this world, too. "

"So, what does this have to do with anything?"

"Getting there. So, one time, as I was digging myself up from my _humble_ abode, I met Shincho, a most perplexed Shinigami."

"Don't you mean perplexing?"

"I was coming out from the mountain of snow like a mole. I'm quite certain I mean _perplexed_. We became friends, of sorts. And then I got the immunity from the Soul King."

Ichigo stared. Urahara offered him a grin in response. He'd sincerely meant to tell the entire tale, and still would tell it, but somehow seeing his expression when he said that was much more desirable at this given moment. He didn't know why, but getting various reactions from people amused him to no end. It might have been the scientist part of him, studying the explosive part of human nature. It might have been the trickster part of him, demanding that people should become confused and tricked. It might have been the perverted side of him, wanting to complicate things for those around him and watch them fume. Riled up, confused lovers were amazingly sexy, in his opinion. He guessed it wasn't the sort of opinion people generally had, but....

"And the connection is...?" Ichigo finally asked, when he realized he couldn't possibly win the stare vs. grin competition by any other way than words.

"I see you want the long version."

"I want the version that makes sense!"

"Oh, fine."

So Urahara launched into the considerably longer, more complicated – and, above all, more elucidating – explanation.

* * *

Under the cold Siberian sun, Urahara was happily trying to close down what could only be described as a wormhole between a spot where an entire flock of birds roosted and his bedroom. Waking up in feathers or worse really wasn't his idea of a good morning, but at least it meant that he could eliminate the distance between two points, so he could theoretically do it at the right time and the right places. The actual immediate result had been to get himself attacked by feathered things and covered in omelet, but who's counting. Anything for science. Working all night, trying your hardest, exhaustion and multiple pecks, showers and house cleanups were all in the job description.

Now, since it seemed to be working, all he had to do was apply his theory regarding the fourth dimension of space, which incidentally wasn't time, to inter-world equations and try to see if he could get himself where he wanted in any other world. Maybe Soul Society – or not, since he wasn't loved in that place. He could go to Hueco Mundo, or any other parallel reality, now.

He was interrupted from his dreamy thoughts upon equations by the sound of somebody approaching. He rose his eyes and smiled warmly, fully expecting to see Shincho. Instead, he saw a distinctly Kuchiki-looking person.

"Hello?" he said, losing the warmth of his favorite facial gesture and slipping into a tense stance bearing a non-committing tense smile. He had so many variations in the realm of this gesture that he would soon have to start naming them. The Idiot Smile. The Warm Smile. The Voodoo Smile. But, of course, he stayed focused on this newly arrived man. How many people ran around Siberia? Right. He had been warned.

"Hello," the man nodded. "Who are you?"

Well, wasn't that question a bitch. He'd go for the truth for now and run later, if necessary. "Urahara Kisuke. Taking a vacation in one of the most beautiful places in the world." He looked towards the place in which the not-quite-wormhole had been. No signs of it left. Good. "Currently bird-watching. And you are?"

"Kuchiki Aaoyama." He said it in the true manner of a noble of that family, the blond observed. With so much arrogance that you could swear that sooner or later the universe would finally do its duty and give the Kuchiki gods immortality and their very own tall mountain to reside on top of. Maybe they'd start _glittering _soon, like precious diamonds. Or the Sun goddess. Own-name activated sparkle that would lighten the room whenever they declared who they were. Urahara smiled wider.

"What a pleasure it is to meet a nobleman!"

"Really?" the man asked, throwing him a suspicious glance, possibly sensing the snicker behind the smile. Not that the blond could really be convinced to give a damn about not hurting his feelings. "Have you felt any disturbance in space around here?"

And, of course, Urahara responded with the utmost surprise. To which he added a tiny wee bit of offense, because people don't generally think of you as somebody they need to worry about if they think that you think that they were insulting you when they weren't. It was a tad complicated, true, but human psychology generally was. "What do you mean? Unless _I_ am a disturbance to _your _space and you would like me to go. Do you _want_ me to go? Am I _bothering_ you?" That's when he realized that his nearly hyper reaction a moment ago contrasted to this one made him look more than mildly deranged.

"Hn? Why are you here, anyway?"

Might as well go for bi-polar reactions. So he grinned again. "Vacation. Far away from the maddening crowd and all that. I thought I saw some very interesting bird movements in this direction awhile ago and I came to investigate. Weellll, I came a longer way than I'd imagined. Still can't find the bloody things. It would appear they disappeared." They had disappeared, indeed, right into the kitchen, where they would be cooked. Tough luck for them.

"'s that so?..."

Urahara beamed at him. It was his non-genius smile, his 'misplaced idiot' smile that made his IQ look about half of what it actually was. Combined with the swinging moods.... He really needed to work on his people skills. Behind the face, however, he was measuring the Kuchiki up and down. He didn't seem as strong as the geniuses of that clan, nor did he appear particularly dangerous. He did appear violent and brutish, but those weren't particularly worrying characteristics when one had been a captain of the Gotei-13. Still, he was willing to bet it had something to do with Shincho. There weren't that many people who ran around Siberia.

"You should get away from here. It isn't a good place," the man said in a way that seemed to have been passed down from generation of bully to generation of bully. Well, it definitely _wasn't _a nice place to be, now that this person was here.

"Of couuurse," Urahara chirped back. "I had to get back soon, anyway. Well, I'll be off. Ta!"

He turned on his heels and started shunpo-ing in a random direction and planning a saner-looking personality. The Kuchiki didn't need the other to know that his quarters were in the area, he couldn't hang about uslessly, so the best solution was to just go away and return when it was safe to do so.

Shincho would be able to take care of himself, he was sure. So, a good personality that would suit him better than the mellow one he used to have.... Was his planning of this _normal_? He supposed not, but then again, he was a special kind of person. And as long as other people didn't start saying the same thing, he was fine.

////////////////

Later that day, when it should actually have been night, except Siberia tends to have its night hours messed up when compared to normal people's ideas about 10 pm being a good time for the sun to go down, Urahara entered his house only to find that not only had Shincho returned while he wasn't there, but he was being watched very carefully by a very attentive Yoruichi.

"Hello," he said, testing the waters.

"Kisuke," Yoruichi greeted him.

"Hello, Urahara-san." Shincho waved cheerfully. "I was just explaining to Shihouin-taichou that you cannot seem to stop singing her praises."

"In the hopes I'll get one eye off of him. Who is he, Kisuke?"

Ah, puzzling. Now that he thought about it, he realized he didn't know much about the other man. It felt almost amazingly stupid of him to have received Shincho in his home based on such little information, now that he thought about it. "I'm afraid I'm not entirely certain," he admitted, scratching his head. "Shincho-san is pretty secretive. But he is welcomed here."

Yoruichi scoffed. "Jeez, are you taking in strays again? One day somebody will stab you in the back and it's going to be entirely your fault." She didn't sound concerned, though. So much for being worried about those you love, he thought. Or maybe it was the fact that he wasn't either helpless or careless.

"Don't worry, he used protection," Shincho pipped in, a bit too cheerfully.

Urahara cringed and didn't bother to hide it. Oh, the wording, the wording. Wasn't it just perfect? Wasn't it just _intentional _of Shincho to do such a thing to him? Maybe the man was testing the waters, trying to figure out what sort of a love life Urahara had, considering his proposal that first night and his pining for Yoruichi the rest of the time. Really, Shincho couldn't be blamed for curiosity. But it still made the blond want to disappear under a bed or something of the sort. His sometimes feline lover looked between them and sighed loudly.

"...And he collects yet another victim," she said. "Honestly, are you ever going to change?" Then, towards Shincho, with some pity, "...you know he's a perverted man who will lose interest in you as quickly as he seduced you, no matter how godly sex is, right?"

Shincho put on a most amazed look, which turned into amusement very quickly. Here was yet another toyer with personalities, Urahara thought. Just brilliant.

"Actually, what I meant was that he sealed his room and experiments from me, although it's nice, even if a bit disappointing, to know that I escaped the fate of a most amazing one night stand."

"Oh." Yoruichi turned back towards Urahara, sighing. "Why didn't you say something? You just let me go on and say all those things for no reason."

"You would have thought I was trying to cover for myself." Urahara shrugged, then smiled and sat down on a corner of the couch. Shincho also relaxed and took a seat himself.

"...True," the cat woman admitted.

"Although I'm always honest about my ways," the blond continued. He always was! And she knew that. But they liked joking and playing around with each other, it was in their natures. So here they were, enacting a comedy/romantic sketch for no particular reason, but for their own and Shincho's benefit.

"Well."

"Even if you scold me." He tried to do the gallant eyebrow-wiggling thing that he'd heard was popular in the Occident, then realized it didn't work quite well with his looks.

"You shouldn't be playing with people's hearts like that." The eternal argument Yoruichi used. He wasn't sure whether it meant he shouldn't be playing with _her_ heart like that or with the rest of humanity. But this was one of the serious comments. She meant it. And he supposed that she was right, but wasn't sure what needed to be changed. He'd figure it out, though. Eventually.

"Now, now, kitty-chan, you should know it's in my blood to play with people just as it is in your animal counterpart's to play with its food."

"Say that one more time and I'll scratch you until you'll look like a math notebook."

"Why, then we could use me for a very atypical Go board. It should prove interesting and quite challenging to...."

"Ah, true love," Shincho interrupted them. "Can we have something to eat _now_, Shihouin-taichou? I really wasn't kidding four hours ago when I said I was starving."

So they went to eat and gradually they adjusted to each other's presence.. Yoruichi put herself in charge of the food, saying that while anybody can wash the dishes, only the few should be privileged by actual contact with ingredients. Which might have been a reference to Urahara's pancake-sticking-to-the-ceiling incident. Or the explosive cabbage. Probably the second. It had been so hard to make the smell go away after that.

As Urahara and Yoruichi became gradually more and more interested in each other and less interested in Shincho, the man took the opportunity to retire early, claiming a desperate need to reacquaint himself with "The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire", which had to be one of the most transparent excuses in the history of mankind, not that either of the two were about to complain. And if he wondered how the blond's Casanova-like ways fit in with everything, he wisely kept the question to himself and possibly pondered about it when alone with his over-long, over-boring history book.

Yoruichi didn't have much time to spend with her favorite outcast, seeing as she still had responsibilities. Sometimes, she confessed that she too wanted to get away, but she was a noble, so she would be tracked down with much more enthusiasm than Urahara. Also, the search party after him had been led by her, so there was no surprise he had never been officially found. She would not have the same benefit if they made the Kuchiki clan and/or Soi Fon in charge of her own search party. She'd taught the girl enough things that she would eventually be capable of tracking down her captain and putting up a fight. They really would be runaways if she were to follow him. However, every once in awhile, she could run off to see him for a week or so.

////////

The last of Yoruichi's days was progressing calmly enough, the two lovers lost in recollecting something that didn't sound at all familiar to Shincho and neglecting him entirely, as these things happen, as he read what appeared to be "Holinshed's Chronicles", a notable work concerning the history of England, Ireland and Scotland. Well, notably long, tedious and apparently outdated some few enough years after being published. And it had been published sometime in the 16th century – true, it _had_ served as inspiration for some Shakespeare plays, but it was by far a work of major interest only to weird scholars.

And right now, he was barely containing his laughter, reading about "_El zeunbour"_ - a name given to a very specific part of the female anatomy when it was covered in very stingy hair. You might wonder what it had to do with England, Ireland and Scotland. Or you might be surprised to find such a strange thing in a history book. Well, that is because while Shincho was using a cover saying "Holinshed's Chronicles, vol. 1", he was actually reading what distinctively looked like an unofficial illustrated edition to the "Perfumed Garden" (written in the 15th century, so very vaguely in the same period as the cover suggested). Note: the "Perfumed Garden" is pretty much what the Kama Sutra would be if the non-non-sex-related parts were removed. The exact chapter that Shincho was reading with much interest at the moment was "Sundry Names Given to the Sexual Organs of Women", and he was econsidering his reading choices. After all, it wouldn't do to be caught reading objectionable books in somebody else's home. Even if they're theoretically classics.

But the lazy, objectionable afternoon was interrupted by the appearance of a woman who barged in as if she owned the place and nearly reached Shincho before Yoruichi and Urahara caught up with her and placed their weapons against her neck and heart. She wore a shinigami garb, not that that said much, had her hair in a pony tail and her eyebrows knitted in a scowl as she touched Benihime's blade.

"Shichi!" Shincho cried, surprised and delighted at the same time and snapping his non-history book shut.

"Who is she and _why_ is she here?" Yoruichi demanded. Her eyes were narrowed dangerously – she wasn't the sort of woman who agreed with other people storming _her_ territory. Incidentally, Urahara himself and all his belongings were part of that territory, so she was taking it quite personally.

"My, my, it would appear my home is becoming as open and crowded as the Grand Central Station," Urahara added in his sing-song voice, but without putting on the idiot act. The voice really was his own, he decided. Something personal, deep, honest. Unlike the idiot smiles.

"She's with me," Shincho explained, approaching the trio and looking more and more serious as he realized this was _not_ a social call. "Although I can't help but wonder what she's doing _in here_. Eh?"

"He's here," the woman said, then looked at the other two, who of course noticed that she didn't seem to be impressed by their threats, just mildly annoyed. "Who are these people, sensei?"

"Friends. _Who's_ here? Here _where_?" As the words in the question were underlined, it became obvious even to the woman that no part whatsoever of her laconic statement was anywhere near helpful.

"Your little brother, sensei. He's … around."

Urahara listened to the way she said it, analyzing every detail of her voice and her intonation, as well as her words. He couldn't quite pinpoint it. There was more than simple respect there. Adoration, he thought. Maybe love. She was very careful about her phrasing, and there was also the _sensei_, so they couldn't be in a relationship. Unless it was a kinky one. No, there was the respect. It didn't go well with kinkiness. Besides, this was a serious matter, apparently, so it couldn't be some coy foreplay. Shincho himself seemed very warm towards her, very open and giving. Yes. And that rang a bell. Contradictions, adoration, different status. Respect and following a person a very far way off to give a message of warning. Ding-dong.

"Soi Fon," he breathed with a sigh and only realized he'd said that out loud when Yoruichi _looked_ at him. He shrugged. If she got the reference, then why would she give him the evil eye for noticing the resemblance?

"Wha-?" the woman demanded, _finally_ reacting to the non-Shincho entities in the room. "What's a soifon?"

"She's a person we both know," Urahara answered with a shrug. "I was just saying we could lower our swords now, ne? Shincho-san?" The man nodded.

And so the two hosts relaxed, putting away their blades (but not too far away) and waiting for an explanation that the woman didn't appear about to give, but that Shincho seemed to be searching his words for.

"Um." Their first guess looked at them, opening and closing his mouth several times in the eternal gesture of a person who is rephrasing a long, long story. "Would you mind helping us? You're both captain class, after all and.... Shichi, how did the situation look?"

"We could use two extra pairs of eyes, sensei. And two captain-level shinigami even more. It really _is_ your little brother. And it would appear he has company. So, yes, if anybody else wants to come, we have use for them. There's people to face, methinks." Gods, that woman could _ignore_, Urahara noticed. She seemed to have forgotten yet again about anything but the man before her as she talked about them as if they weren't even there. She didn't spare them a glance, she didn't consider asking _them _anything. She was worse than Soi Fon, he decided.

"Such as?"

"I don't know their names. One of them seemed to be Kuchiki Aaoyama and another may have been Aizen Sousuke, but I have no inkling as to the others. Not captains, nor vice-captains, nor nobles either. That much I know." Urahara counted on his fingers, trying to figure out who could be Shincho's little brother. He came up empty-handed, no clue as to the possible identity whatsoever. In league with Aizen.... That boded badly.

"Shouldn't be a bother, then." Not worried about somebody captain-level and a Kuchiki? Something didn't sound quite right to the scientist's ears. _He_ felt bad when thinking of Aizen and that damnable clan, that was sure.

"Still, keeping them in check might prove difficult. What do you plan to do, sensei?"

Shincho sighed. "Try to get him to see sense."

"Good luck with that." She snorted. "So.... are we going on a hunt?"

"Yes, dear."

She positively _glowed_ with joy. "Hurray! Let's go!"

She darted out, reminding Urahara of nothing as much as an overgrown puppy that somebody had just announced they were going for a walk. At the same time, a little light bulb appeared in his head and turned on with a _ping _noise. There was something odd in the woman's attitude. The way she ignored, the way she acted. The puppy-like hyperactivity just now. It was answered quite nicely by the following observation: she was dead tired and pretending not to be. She had something eating at her and she wasn't as good an actor as he was.

Shincho gave Urahara and Yoruichi a half-grin, which didn't much help either of them understand what was going on. But if Aizen was in it, and a Kuchiki was thrown in, too, then there was definitely trouble aboard.

"So, wanna help?" Shincho asked. "I need to recover little brother. He's dangerous, so watch out."

The two other shinigami shared a look, then agreed to aid, even if it was just to see what was going on. The blond thought to himself that his non-asking policy was a pretty bad idea and he'd have to change it soon. So they left along with Shincho, going out the door and noticing that Shichi was still there, waiting for them and looking a lot less hyper than she had seemed inside. Yes, the tiredness was catching up with her. But the other Shi-person didn't seem to notice her state, or didn't care. Or didn't want to say anything because of some silent convention between them.

"They're joining!" the woman noticed. "Brilliant. So, you made friends, sensei?"

"Yes."

"Your friends, my friends, then."

About time she stopped treating them as furniture, Urahara thought. No matter how exhausted she was. She _did_ seem that way, having dark circles under her eyes. She also looked very determined and, as the blond observed her as closely as he dared, she gave a small sniff..

"Yeah, so," she began talking again. "I've got two wolves running about and finding his exact location, sensei. So, there's four of us and a few of my pack." She looked at the two, studying the two non-Shincho for the first time. "You're captain level, aren't you?"

_Now_ she noticed. "Yes," Urahara replied. He wondered whether to give her the Idiot Smile and decided against it – Shichi looked intelligent and strong and, as far as he knew women, she'd have his head for acting unlike what she wanted him to act like.

"Neat," she said, seeming to warm up to Urahara just enough for them to make some semblance of human contact. He prepared to say something, but she went ahead before him. "We're so awesome, we need a theme song. I always wanted a villain song." ...and that was where she lost him entirely and he could just _tell _he'd been accidentally coaxed into a false sense of security. "I'm not a villain, at least, I don't think I am, but I always wanted something to underline my bad-ass-ery, know what I mean?"

The others stared at her. Urahara turned his head to look at Shincho, to see if this was normal behavior and observed that he too wore a puzzled expression, but not exactly a _surprised_ one. So it happened, or something akin to this happened, often enough.

"Not really," the man admitted.

"You know, like opera," she said. "Like great poetry. A speech emphasizing our complete awesomeness and how much _damage_ we can do put to _verse_. Awesome. Impressive. Frightening."

Urahara winced, having a sudden image of shouting and shield-waving flutter in front of his eyes. Shincho saw his disbelieving and pained face and mouthed towards him, _She's a linguist_. Which explained nothing and rose further questions. Such as why she'd chosen that as a career/hobby. Why Shincho had mouthed it instead of explaining it. And why it had any relevance whatsoever on the subject matter. Meanwhile, Shichi was getting herself all wound up in a reciting passion of what seemed to be adapted verses.

"Hail, horrors! Hail, infernal world! And you, profound Hell, welcome your new mistress! With sword and clang, we shall tear apart those who stand against us and take over heaven!... You know. Villain song. Villain speech. Villains always get the show of power."

"Why do I have the feeling you already have something you want to perform?" Shincho asked with a sigh. Urahara wondered why he had this feeling that his day was just about to turn from weird to worse.

"Why, I'm so glad you asked," Shichi replied, then paused for a second, as if remembering something. "Come on, let's move. My wolves found the track. And we shall advance singing. Or at least, I'll sing. I can't picture you as knowing the lyrics just yet. Especially since I haven't told you anything about them."

And thus, they ran. It was good that they did, because it was something easily understandable, unlike _somebody's_ motivation for wanting to sing. Urahara kept expecting her to burst into song, but discovered that she was in no hurry to do so. He also wondered how she was like when she wasn't insane with tiredness, as she appeared to be now. Overworked and pretending not to be – it was a domain the blond knew much about, so he recognized the signs.

Instead, he noticed that they had a fifth silent companion, then a sixth and a seventh. Wolves, large, grey, fierce, running next to them from shadow to shadow. The second thing he noticed was that they weren't as silent as he'd supposed at first. The way their feet touched the ground … it was almost a rhythm, soft, soft, soft, hard. It was almost, but not quite, silent. They touched the ground and then they didn't, there were swishes ... three swishes … between the hard hits. Swish, swish, swish, thud. It got stronger as other wolves joined them.

_Battle drums_, Urahara thought. They didn't sound like drums, true, but they had the same role. It was a lot of paws falling against something hard at the right time. In unison. He saw Yoruichi start as she realized the same thing as him. He had no idea how Shichi managed her little trick, but he got the feeling that his lover knew and had more than a simple passing thought about it.

Shichi was leading them, determination on her face, seemingly ignoring the rhythmic sounds. Shincho, on the other hand, fell a bit behind to explain the situation to his two new friends. That sounded helpful.

"She hates my little brother, you know," he said. "Deeply. It's as if she burned for him in all the wrong ways."

"I can hear you, you know," Shichi cried, from up front, turning her head and glaring.

"Of course you can. I never meant for you _not_ to hear me."

"Hm. Well. Yes. I _do_ hate him. Who wouldn't hate that lying, treacherous bastard." Thud, Urahara noticed. She had rhythm in her speech. "I loathe him with every little part of my self." Thud. "There can't be no art of hate I ain't mastered." Thud. "That for him I'd leave lying around on a shelf." Thud.

A wolf growled.

"Beware of my murderous passion." Thud. Whisper of growls through the wolves. "My intentions as pure as the mud. Soon I'll cut him up--no compassion. Then I'll paint the moon red with his blood."

"Come now, Shichi. Do try to calm down, eh? He's my brother, after all," interfered Shincho, half-heartedly. He probably felt the _thing_ coming up. Urahara felt it, too. This was it. It had what passed for drums and rhythm and rhyming.... There was no way to avoid it, he supposed. A villain song was on its way and he hoped it would be less embarrassing than it strongly hinted at being – but either way, it was one of those things you could pull out at parties and keep telling the tale of with different details every time without people minding, so it all leveled out in the end, he supposed.

"You ask me to be a strong woman, sensei. I'm not sure it is a wish I can grant, But at worst I'll rip him open the next day, And today I'll go on with my chant."

There was a yelp from a wolf that was _sort of_ musical, and then a second one happened and soon they were trying to build up a melody – and idea that worked much better in theory than reality, although, as far as intimidation went, Urahara was starting to be afraid from sheer _uncanniness_.

"I'll tell you what," growled Shinchi and a few much more animal growls joined hers. "Beware of my mur-derous pas_sion_! My intentions – they're as _pure_ as the _mud! _Soon, I'll tear him apart, NO compassion, Then I'll _paint the moon red with his bloooood!_"

Needless to say, the last word prompted an enthusiastic wolfish chorus and some attempt at … evil laughter?

"Shichi, we'll never catch him if you make this noise and...."

"Sensei, I can tell you're concerned of my tracking, I can tell that you wonder what's wrong, But I...."

Urahara spotted the human figure just about then. And apparently, so did Shichi, because her song ended in a wolfish snarl as she rushed to the man. Kuchiki Aaoyama was right under them, raising his hands to throw some kidou. Shichi growled and shunpo-ed down to him, slamming him against the trunk of a tree. The wolves gathered around them in a circle, ready to strike, song forgotten.

"You made me forget my rhyme," she growled. "Prepare to die."

"You bitch!" Aaoyama shouted, apparently believing that he needed to do something as stupid and as clichéd as that to fit in with the entire scene. Or maybe the mood of general insanity had rubbed off of him for no real reason. "You daughter of a whore, you...."

Shichi eyed him dispassionately. "Shut up, squished testicle that I scraped from the sole of my shoe, you have not yet mastered the art of insulting--and I find you petty." She hadn't mastered the art of singing, that was very true, but apparently the art of insulting was polished – _too much use?_ the blond ex-captain wondered. This was getting interesting, even if it was still confusing and he was pretty much assisting to Somebody Else's Problem.

Aaoyama opened his mouth to reply to the insult and moving slightly as he thought of the proper thing to say. Before he could figure it out, though, his eyes landed on Shincho and widened.

"_You._" He nearly spat the word, Urahara noticed. It held just that sort of combined amount of hatred and surprise and disbelief that one generally saves for the zombie of one's mother in law. Then he turned to look at the people with Shinchi, noticing Urahara. "And _you_!" It was more disbelief, less hatred, also add confusion. Ice cream stand at the North Pole sort of thing, the blond supposed.

"Me, too," Yoruichi said, waving. "Hi."

"_You!_" Very much disbelief, little hatred, an ounce of betrayal. Not quite _Et tu, Brute, _but somewhere in the realm of _And you, ice cube maker, why are you having an affair with the ice cream stand man at the _North _effing _Pole_? You were supposed to be dating my sister!_

"I'd been aiming to avoid the 'you' reaction," she said, yawning. "Tough luck, eh?"

"Hello, everybody! Kuchiki-san, please avoid calling pronouns in the near future, ne?"

Urahara looked up to see the person who spoke—and blinked. The man was.... The man looked.... He turned his head to look at Shincho. The man looked exactly like that. He was reminded of a magic trick he had seen some time ago, involving a few mirrors and some.... But no. No tricks. No magic. They were identical. Identical twins, he realized. Same jaw, same eyes, same nose, same eyebrows, hell, even the haircuts were beyond similarity and well into the domain of _same-ness_. Little brother was in no way somebody younger than Shincho, Urahara thought. You didn't have much of an age difference when you looked like _that_.

Their clothes, however, differed. Where Shincho was still dressed as if taking a stroll in an autumny Berlin was the next thing on his agenda, the brother seemed more context-savvy, being wrapped up in a fur coat from shoulders to feet. While there was much left to the imagination under _that _garment, Urahara just _knew_ that if you were to undress them, they would be incredibly similar in body, too.

He chased the thought away before it got him into the wrong state of mind. Naked twins, indeed.

"What are you doing here, Hikaru?" Shincho asked.

"Takin' a stroll, Shincho. Checkin' up on the living. And on spirit-related issues."

Their voices were also incredibly similar. Their tonality, too. They were like the same person, mirrored. Or the same person, with one of himself sent back into the past to have a conversation with his not much younger persona. But then the younger brother broke the reflection, smirking in a way that Shincho never had done – at least, to Urahara's knowledge and intuition. It was a dark expression, bitter, even pained. It was wintry and cold. Sarcasm without a reason, without a word, floating between them like the Siberian cold.

"Let's not beat 'round the bush," Hikaru said. "Ya know pretty damned well why I'm here and I know what _you_ are doing here."

Shincho extended his arms in a gesture that was more than a bit theatrical and which brought a scowl from his brother. "Come home. Please."

"I don't have a _choice_, do I? Ya'll drag me away, no matter what my answer'd be."

"Don't be like that."

"Like what? Honest?"

"You're being childish."

Hikaru shrugged. "Maybe. I don't really give a damn. Fine, I'll allow myself to be taken home, like a good little kid. I'll be nice and obedient. That's what ya want, isn't it? An' ya can just go stroke your ego until ya come and screw up the entire universe while ya're at it. 'Cause I can't really stop ya, can I? Hell, you never give a shit about my input."

"I see things differently, that's all. You're being too tragic about it."

"So we agree to disagree."

"...Yes."

"Forever."

It was like watching ping-pong on TV, Urahara decided. Not related to yourself, not really something you can understand the profound subtleties of and yet interesting.

"Don't be dramatic, Hikaru."

"Don't be this, don't be that. Is there anything I'm allowed ta be?"

"You're acting like a spoiled, rotten...." Shichi started, but Hikaru's gaze darted towards her very fast and she stopped, seeming to remember herself.

"Wild thing.... Don't worry, nobody'll ever know ya're being rude towards blue blood. Who's gonna tell anybody ya're being way too familiar? I don't mind and Shincho would never be a miser, so go ahead. Speak."

Urahara felt that it was going to be a long enough night. Was there any seat available while this batter went on? Any low, conveniently horizontal branch?

"Talking about speaking...." Yoruichi said, looking Aaoyama up and down. "I trust that somebody else also knows to keep his mouth shut?"

Shincho looked at the Kuchiki family member (currently bristling) and then at Urahara, who cocked his head in an expression in which he tried to convey all his willingness to get rid of a problem, if need arose.

"Why?" Aaoyama asked. "What are you gonna do to me if I reveal the events here?"

"You might go to bed fine and wake up dead, pardon the contradiction in terms," Urahara said, smiling towards a bit too widely. Bearing his teeth. He was a former captain and also a former member of the second division. Murder was part of the job description, surely the fool knew that? Second thought, he hadn't known him all those days ago and his name hadn't been mentioned in the mean time, so the _you _was probably connected not to his runaway status, but to his image of half-insane bird watcher.

"Yeah? Well, fuck you."

"Not even if you ask nicely. Yoruichi deserves me to behave better than dirty myself with the likes of you."

"Ooh, nice one there, Urahara-taichou," Shichi nodded her approval. The blond realized that it was the first time she was actually giving him her full attention. Swearing got her interested, eh?

"Urahara?!" Aaoyama said, eyes as wide as saucers. "But.... you're.... she's...."

"Never put a person's lover in charge of bringing them to justice," the blond said, quite sweetly. Poisoned candy sweet. Aaoyama squirmed and then, yet again, chose the worse way to get out of the situation, mainly talking too loudly and trying to press an advantage he didn't have.

"Whaat?! Wait until Seireitei hears of this!"

"Lucky that they never will."

Quicker than the eye could see, especially when one wasn't expecting it, Hikaru grabbed Aaoyama away from Shichi, who hadn't been holding him too carefully, not seeing any reason to, and did what pretty much amounted to pushing him away towards a suddenly opening Senkaimon, then throwing himself in Shichi's path and catching her in his arms as she almost managed to retrieve Aaoyama.

"No!"

She growled, but the moment was gone and the gate closed as fast as it had opened. She twisted away out of the man's arms, burning with rage.

"You're not gonna kill him because he's seen these two here," Hikaru said. "You are _not. _I _order_ you to stay put. Do you hear me? I _command_ you!"

Urahara could practically see the hairs on her head stand up as she prepared either to attack the man or to rush after her former captive.

"Wait, Shichi," Shincho said. She turned towards him, breathing hard, between her teeth.

"HE!" she growled. Then towards Hikaru. "I _hate_ you. _Never_ touch me again. Never _interfere_ with me again. I will tear you to pieces. Mark my words, if I get the chance, I'll drive my blade through your heart with no regret."

"Damn," Yoruichi swore against Urahara's ear as the scene unfolded before them. "This is gonna be trouble."

"Yeah, it is," Hikaru agreed. "He's gonna rat on ya, and then ya'll have to run like no tomorrow and chances are they'll catch the both of ya and organize a little execution or something of the sort. Whadda ya say, Shincho? 'M I right?"

His brother was upset, but instead of going into a rage, as one might have expected, he was actually very calm. And cold. "You did that to force my hand."

"I was merely provin' my point. We _need_ to get involved! Ya've gotta stop aimin' at the bloody stars when there's trouble right _here_, right _now_, when ya're neglecting the duties that are rightfully yours."

"Some things are better left alone."

"Yeah. Right." Hikaru snorted. "Come up with an axiom like that, won't ya? At least, let _me_ take action in the direction I wanna take action in and _you_ can do whatever ya want."

"No."

"See? This is why we don't get along...."

Urahara cleared his throat. It was about time to say something, because this was too much to follow if one didn't know at least a bit of the story.

"Sorry to interrupt, but what's going on?"

"Oh, ya don't know?" Hikaru grinned. "How have you been spelling your fake name, Shincho?" And then, towards the company, "'cause, ya know, only Akio is his real name. And even that.... How did you spell Akio?"

Shincho's eyes narrowed, but he answered anyway. "Akio – bright, man. Shincho – forest, bird."

"Yeah, well," Hikaru grinned. "Ya always lacked creativity when it came ta names. Our parents were into shiny names. Call a kid 'radiance' and the other 'bright king'. It's not 'bright man', you know. Different 'o'. As for his fake name, it's a description. He adapted it to read 'forest bird', but it's actually 'new leader'. Ain't that right, Spirit King? It amuses ya ta let Shichi run about and do some linguistics on your fake identities."

Urahara's eyebrows shot up. Talk about unexpected development! The Spirit King? All this time, he had been keeping the King, _the_ King, the untouchable King, in his underground, collapsing lair? Wasn't he locked away in some other dimension, always impenetrable, untouchable, far from the regular shinigami, too god-like to mingle, to be seen?

Gods, he'd asked the ruler of all shinigami to sleep with him.

This was the _King_?

No, he couldn't quite believe it, it couldn't be here, not just walking about the world and stepping into people's lives! He was supposed to have a retinue and bodyguards and to announce his comings and going with all the majesty his rank demanded. He was supposed to be.... Well, so much beyond normal people.

He looked at Shincho again, re-evaluating the opinions he'd formed about the man. Hidden reiatsu? Yes. He'd assumed there had been a decent quantity of it, about vice-captain level. Maybe he had been wrong?... Then, charismatic, nice, pleasant, polite. Could work for a King, too, he supposed.

He realized yet again that he had neglected finding out many things about his guest. If he really was the King, then he had hidden it well, while still seeming a very agreeable person. Did it fit a royal's description?

Yes. Maybe.

"What we have here is a royal family melodrama," Hikaru continued. "Our great and most esteemed father had twins, always a sign of bad luck in our family line. We never got along very well as kids – you could say I was the black sheep of the family. And then we grew up and not much changed. We still have very different opinions. So we keep fighting. I'm trying to usurp the throne, ya know. At least, that's what they say."

Urahara blinked and considered. Did that sound likely?... No, but it was possible, he supposed. And Shincho wasn't arguing about it. So. These people. These three that had just appeared out of nowhere. He didn't know them. Yoruichi didn't know them. They were strong enough. There was something wrong with those wolves and that song. And the linguistics, the whole idea. Yes, it was plausible. One look at Yoruichi confirmed the fact that she was inclined to believe this, too. She still seemed to know something extra, though.

"Our main divergence point is internal politics," Hikaru went on. "Basically, we're talkin' about Seireitei here. Whether we should or whether it's better to keep stayin' aloof. I'm sayin' interfere. Brother says stayin' away is better. I frankly think that the incredibly bad legal and administrative system is pretty much a proof of our interference being needed, but, really, how can I oppose Shincho, eh? He's the King. I'm nothing more than a prince. And do ya know what the bitch is? As long as he's alive, I can't take his job. And as long as he doesn't have an heir, I can't leave and have a nice noble family of my very own, either. I'm trapped."

"It's not exactly an _uncomfortable_ trap," Shichi pointed out and Urahara realized with just a bit of a jump that it had been his turn to forget her presence. "Listen, do we have to have this entire revealing conversation here? We should just be going back home. And maybe you can _stay_ this time."

"Shichi, there's only one reason I'd stay there, and that's you." Hikaru grinned. "Ya're lovable. But the fact is, I don't want ta come back. Still, revealin' the entire drama to these two poor people ya dragged here for no reason whatsoever is necessary. Let them know what is going on behind the scenes, let them know how the brothers fight and one of them is being a stuck up idiot and the other only wants what he thinks is right for himself."

Shincho glared. "Don't turn yourself into some sort of unsung hero, brother."

"Why not? _Somebody_ has ta sing my praises. I'm not like you, ta have people bowing to me left and right and enjoying every little bit of my sunny disposition. I never _was_ sunny. And I don't have very faithful underlings whom I take advantage of by encouragin' feelings I'll never repay. That's what ya're doin' with Shichi, isn't it? You toy with her, raise her hopes and then leave her hangin' for nothing at all."

"Oi," the aforementioned woman said, not pleased at all. "Don't go into territory you don't have a clue about."

"But that's just the thing, ain't it? I do have a clue about it. You _compensate_, it's true, with God only knows how many lovers and _linguistics_, of all things. But I'd have ta be blind not ta notice."

"I am my own woman. Do not presume that I will allow you to make me into a victim. I am too strong to be a victim."

"Come on. Ya know as well as anybody else that we all have our weak spots. Yours is Shincho, with his brightness – frankly, I'm not sure I blame ya, he's pretty brilliant, even if I'm loathe to admit it. And ya're his, but not for love. He just enjoys having a willing slave."

"That's enough, little brother," Shincho warned. "She's nothing of the sort. Let's return."

Hikaru shrugged, then stretched, popping a bone or three. "Ya're right. We should return. But ya know what? Listen here. You know what? What I really want now … is pie."

There was a moment of silence as everybody tried to digest that information and to come with some conclusion as to why, exactly, it was there and what it had to do with anything. Hikaru started grinning and, just as Shincho was opening his mouth to comment, possibly on the other's randomness, he continued that thought.

"If ya'd been the one ta say that, Shincho, she'd have gone and got it. Out of devotion. All three of us know it. And ya _love it_. The fact that she'd do it for ya as a _man_, not as a _king_. Not even your happily wedded wife'd be like that. _Usin' her_."

"My choices are my own," Shichi pointed out. "I am not unhappy. I am not used. This _is_ what I want. I would thank you not to intrude upon _my_ _personal_ business."

"Well, I was trying to say ya _could_ be happy and my idiot, advantage-seekin' brother isn't lettin' ya. This, however, appears ta be his only fucked up trait and ya don't mind, so you can go on messing each other up for as long as ya want, even if I resent it. Anyway, I believe my timing is off. The best of my revealin' words have already been said and I'm goin' to have ta start babblin' now."

"Sorry?" Shincho asked, blinking.

"Timing. My timing's off. I was supposed ta finish speaking in a dramatic, revealing pose and flash of light. Guess not this time, though."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Shichi growled. "Those things don't happen out of nowhere."

As if _she _was the one to speak, Urahara thought, remembering an episode that had happened very, very recently and which also didn't happen out of nowhere in reality. Apparently, Hikaru had the same thoughts.

"No, they don't. But neither do musicals and your number with the wolves was an interestin', if rather unrehearsed strange event."

"I'd been _planning _that! It didn't just happen, you know. then that Aaoyama _stopped it _and pissed me off!"

"It's kind of obvious, dear. You always _loved _a dramatic pose. Pretty much like me and brother here. Perhaps that is why...."

There was a flash of light all of a sudden and everybody ducked to the ground, hearing a very loud, curse-like "Gah! Timing!" from the royal prince. It was over as soon as it began, but Urahara's retina had been burnt so badly that he couldn't see much that wasn't spotted over. He heard a snarl and supposed it was Shichi, or Shichi's wolves, and a cry of pain and some cursing and he snapped back to back with Yoruichi, blinking to try to regain his eyesight and careful to sense any reiatsu close to him.

There didn't seem to be anybody, though. As his eyes cleared gradually, he finally got to see Shichi's shape bowing down over Shincho, feeling him up from the look of it. It was a very strange way to continue a very strange day and he was just considering either getting his brain checked or trying to sprout wings and fly, because that was one of his favorite things to do when he was dreaming, when he finally figured out that she was inspecting an injury he'd gotten somehow.

"Somebody there was an escapologist," she growled. "I felt about three people. Gah! I'm such a bloody idiot. Should've realized something was wrong. Sensei?"

"He got my stomach," the man answered. "I tried to block, but brother beat me to it. He was always good with kidou. Too good."

"Stay down, sensei," Shichi urged. "Please. I need to heal you."

Urahara felt like nothing more than a spectator, standing inside a play instead of watching it from a safe distance. He didn't know what to do, so he didn't act in any way. It felt a bit like dropping in on story characters. The Spirit King, his brother, a melodrama and a woman who had a villain song.

He turned towards Yoruichi.

"This stuff beats my story of leaving Seireitei by a long shot," he noticed. "I feel so small."

"Tell me about it," she answered, staring at Shichi healing Shincho. "By the way, we still have a pretty big problem on our hands. I'm going to be in trouble this time, too."

They continued to watch the other two, though, despite the fact that it was probably the time to rush off, pack and establish a safe spot somewhere. Every second counted. Still, they couldn't pry themselves away, apparently.

"You're quite good at this," the King murmured. "Healer's hands."

"You've got to know a trick or two, sensei. I'm only glad to serve."

"My wife isn't thrilled by how well you take care of me."

"I'm afraid that I am unwilling to oblige her by doing less than I am capable of."

_Married_, Urahara thought. Was that why he'd been refused?

Oh, _gods_, he'd proposed a one night stand to the bloody King, who was now injured. What a horrid day, not getting out of bed ever again seemed like such a good idea.

"I know. Well, then. An escapologist. Do you two Seireitei people know anybody who could fit that description?"

The ex-captain's very well-filed memory felt the question more than heard it and started searching for the right information, while making connections inside his head fast. He could see Aaoyama, searching for power, siding with Aizen Sousuke, who had _so much_ to offer. And in Aizen's group there was, always smiling, always creepy, that fox-like person, Ichimaru Gin. Trickster, people believed, though they were never sure what his game was. Maybe this time, it was escapology. It would fit his personality traits well enough.

"Gin," he said, out loud. "Ichimaru Gin. It might be him."

"Grey hair, really thin?" Shichi asked. She was pale and even more tired than before, and also frantic, almost hyperventilating, despite Shincho obviously being in no danger.

"Yes."

"I think I saw his file. So. We should be heading back, sensei. I'll think of a trap to get past this Gin. Gah, how I hate people like him. I can find you anybody in this world, anybody at all, sensei, track them down until there's nowhere to hide. But they can always run. I'm not fast. Why am I not fast? I'll have to work harder. You! Yoruichi. You're called the flash goddess, right? Can you teach me a thing or two? I've got nothing to offer in return...."

"We need to head back," Shincho interrupted. "But first.... Urahara-san, I'm afraid my presence here has caused you much trouble. And you, too, Yoruichi-san. Therefore, the least I can do is offer some aid. I do not agree with interfering in Seireitei's business. What you do there is your own problem. A long time ago, the shinigami who later formed the first members of the Central 46 asked for freedom. They got it and you'll still have it even if things go bad with you. Otherwise, it wouldn't be freedom, eh? Without responsibilities, it would only be childishness. So as long as you do not fail entirely and collapse the system, you have freedom from the Royal House. But I am the King. As such, I will offer you an order stating your immunity and Yoruichi's immunity from the legal system, as far as felonies are not concerned. Yes?"

"Thank you very profoundly, your majesty."

"No, don't do that when we are in private. Errr.... You look as if you actually had something very relevant to say."

"Well... Yes. What if Yoruichi and I split up? What if I get another lover? Will I have to ask for immunity again, lest that person be considered a traitor and chased around the world?"

Shincho smiled, getting up from the ground and leaning on Shichi for support. "What a tedious mind you have. Very well. I'll change that part. Shichi, pen and paper please. How does "Urahara Kisuke and any lover that he might have" sound to you?"

The blond grinned happily and saw Yoruichi give him a small smile, too. Also, a _so you're going to be sleeping around, then_ look, too. He wasn't sure whether it was annoyed or amused, though. "It sounds amazing. Thank you so very much, Your Majesty."

"Yes, well.... Shichi, no chance of catching up with them now?"

"They'd just get away again. I _need_ a trap. Alright, we need to get back home. Urahara Kisuke. I'll return soon enough and establish a contact method between you and me, with possibility to talk to sensei, because you seem to be close? Is that alright, sensei?"

"Very good, yes."

"Then we're going. Sorry about the rush, but I need to consider his safety, just in case that escapologist has some traps. You guys, on the other hand, will probably be fine. This is a family matter, so you shouldn't be bothered by anybody."

The King opened a gateway to his own world and, without much further ado, they stepped through and disappeared, leaving Urahara and Yoruichi to simply stare behind them.

"That was rushed," the blond commented.

"Yes. And that woman.... She was.... Gods, she was a...."

"She was strange," Urahara nodded. Yoruichi stared at him.

"Strange? Of course she was strange!"

"Hey, where's all the wolves?"

"There weren't any to start with."

"What?! But...."

"Pay more attention to your surroundings, idiot. They weren't real wolves. They were things she'd conjured. That's how she'd gotten them to act in a certain way, they were...."

"What?!"

"Can't you tell? What was _different_ about her? What her relationship was with … with _him_?"

"Well, she called him sensei."

"Baka. Yes, she called him that. But it meant more."

"In what way?"

"So you can't tell. Then it isn't _my_ place to tell you, either. If you can't figure it out...."

"I don't get it."

"Well, I'll tell you this much. You know how I'm independent and do things the way I like them and am quite relaxed about the rules?"

"My, Yoruichi, I wasn't aware you knew you were such."

"I know myself. So. What can I say? She is entirely my opposite."

"I've noticed. She bore a resemblance from this point of view to your Soi Fon. So?"

Yoruichi sighed. "No, I don't think you _really _understand. It's a rather weird situation." She paused, started to say something more, then stopped. "But it's been a really weird time, hasn't it? Never mind all that. Some things aren't mine to tell.... Well, let's go back, gather what we can and leave for someplace far, far away, just in case Aaoyama tells Seireitei where to find us and that immunity is forgotten about. If nothing at all happens, I can come up with some lame excuse for being late. If you _are_ granted the thing, I'll come spend some time with you. A lot of it."

Urahara gave her a small smile. "That's one good thing out of this entire hubbub. I was getting quite lonely."

Naturally, the letter concerning Urahara (and lovers) appeared not much later, puzzling Seireitei. People wondered about it for quite awhile, seeing that the "for services to the King" reasoning was more than just a little vague, but it had all the seals and signs and whatnots proving its sender was whom he said to be. Yoruichi was late in returning and claimed that she had desperately wanted to see American Bisons, so she'd taken a detour back. She got away with it, since people apparently believed that this was greatly typical of her (it wasn't, really, but you don't argue too strongly against people believing your alibi for whatever reason).

After some time, she ran off for good, leaving behind a letter saying she had had an affair with said Urahara since pretty much forever, thing which was confirmed by a miserable Soi Fon, who declared she had never approved of that man (big surprise, there). And the world took a few other turns, which led to becoming what it was right now. A dressed Urahara, a ruffled Ichigo, a lot of strange people trampling a shop and Central 46 about to be brought down because it Messed with the Wrong People.

* * *

"And that's pretty much it," Urahara said, smiling his old, charming smile. "I am now a correspondent of the King himself. We never talk about politics, however. It would ruin our friendship, I think, since both of us feel that much better knowing that the other's realm of string pulling is way clear of our own. Besides, there are Secrets to be had. Oh, and I never saw him again. I have no clue whether he hasn't returned to the real world yet or whether he hasn't gotten around to visiting. Now, shall we move in the other part of the house? I am sure my guests will be wondering where I am and what I'm doing. Or, if not that, then thinking I'm really impolite for sleeping with you the moment you came in instead of doing my job as a host."

Ichigo nodded and started searching for his own clothes, which were also spread around the room randomly.

"Urahara," he said. "What are we-"

The other man looked at him, surprised. He dreaded the question of what they were to each other and wondered if that was what Ichigo was going to ask now or if it was something much different. He didn't get to find out, however, because the younger man stood, silent, and smiled, letting it drop. Perhaps he'd seen something in Urahara's face. Perhaps he was afraid of the answer. Perhaps he knew it and thought it was silly to ask. The shopkeeper almost prompted him, but then changed his mind. He couldn't do that. He couldn't face that without having some sort of an idea of what he himself wanted and what he felt.

"They're waiting," Urahara said. "Out of the cauldron and into the fire. We've got a lot of work to do."

* * *

**AN**: Done. Finally done. Again, sorry this took so long, but I had to get the past in there somewhere, so things and relationships would be explained, so the story could go in the direction I wanted it to. The fact that this is a flashback containing a lot of OC input is part of what got me to spend such a long time on it, deleting and rewriting as I caught courage and then lost it.

It's also 25 pages long, which means just typing and editing on their own took forever and included falling asleep with my hands on the laptop several times (because I write at night. Even as I type this, I can't help but notice it's 2:20 AM and I'm _sleepy. _However, if I don't post soon I'll be very angry with myself.)

Yes. I'm sorry.

Thankfully, I also started working on the eleventh chapter before I was entirely done with this one, so it should come out much, much sooner (and it will probably be shorter, for author sanity).

Don't forget to review! (please? Feed.... author....)


	11. No Title Found, Alliterative or Not

Disclaimer: Don't own, make no money.

AN: Gah! I know I said I'd update faster and I didn't! Sorry, sorry, sorry, author's block, edited this chapter a lot of times, re-wrote it entirely in the end, and RL isn't being too nice! Sorry!

**Chapter 11: No Title Found, Alliterative or Otherwise**

Urahara felt mildly disappointed. His story had been.... Well, it was hard to describe it, but _bad _was the first thing that came to mind. He knew he wasn't a good storyteller and, to top that, his general tendency was to be a secondary, unimpressive character in other people's sagas. Even his tale of getting kicked out of Seireitei had been rather embarrassing, now that he thought about it. No heroic fight, no stand, no nothing. Just the wrong place, at the wrong time. And Aizen.

Well, he still had two arrancar in his house and two rather scary people to talk to and things to decide and news to find out and even if what he really wanted was to close himself in his bedroom and not come out for more than half a year, there were things to be done. And he was braver than that. But it didn't mean others had to suffer, so he asked Ichigo whether he wanted lie around some more. The younger man looked up at him and blinked, the question registering to him only after a few seconds.

"Nah. I should go home. Goat-face and the girls must miss me."

"It's late. You _can_ spend the night, if you want to. And if you're not comfortable here, I can get you another room – or at least another futon."

Ichigo stretched slowly and yawned. A bone or two popped and he looked so sated and so comfortable that Urahara wondered whether he'd saddled himself with another cat-like person.

"How about a bed?" Ichigo asked. "No, don't answer that. You're all traditonal. But seriously, a _mattress_ would be brilliant. Futons aren't exactly the softest things in the world."

"I like my bedding _hard_."

"Is that supposed to be a pun?"

"You started it, Ichigo-kun. Well, then, downstairs we go."

"What about Yoruichi? Won't she mind? I'm going to run into her sooner or later."

Urahara smirked in his trademark way, cocking his head slightly. He guessed it was a perfectly decent question, seeing that Ichigo didn't really know her, or their history together. Well, he didn't mind repeating himself all that much. He could do variations upon the theme. See how good different answers were. "No, she won't!" his sing-song voice returned in full force. "She's had her share of lovers in the past, so relax, ne?"

The younger man stood up, shocked. "What? What sort of a relationship do you two guys have?" Yeah. The kid was the one who thought Urahara was traditional. Roles reversed, then?

"An open one," the blond said almost with glee. He had to see the reaction to that one.

"Sheesh!" It sounded more like swearing. Funny. He'd commented less before sex. Possibly because of having something else on his mind. It was logical that it would be so.

"Get dressed before you come downstairs, though. She's a fan of nudity, but I have no doubt that Byakuya would be less than happily impressed. And I _do_ need to talk to him without him pretending to be stoically unobservant."

Ichigo huffed. "I was _going to _get dressed anyway!"

"Just making sure. I remember this one time when I forgot I was naked.... Well, there was more than once, actually ... and usually around Soi Fon, who didn't appreciate it much, but...."

"Gods, what's wrong with you people?"

The shopkeeper decided that Yoruichi was right. Shocking people with nudity and weird stories really was a brilliant hobby. Unrelated to what he was saying before, he just picked a random story. "And opened the door to Yamamoto. I think it was the first time anybody saw him fully awake, alert and eyes wide open. He stared at me for _months_ afterwards."

Ichigo's head came out of his blouse and he frowned. "Well, I guess it was surprising that you weren't wearing clothes, but isn't that overreacting? People have a right to be naked in their own homes, I suppose."

Cue another smile of pure glee. "Ah. But I didn't say it was _my home_, did I?"

"....Where were you?" Ichigo paused in his dressing, getting a pretty good idea that there was something very, very wrong with the picture.

"His office."

"What the _hell_ were you doing naked in his _office_?"

"Would you rather it have been his bedroom?"

"Gah! Why were you naked _there_?"

The blond considered and then decided it was not a good idea to tell him about it. "Long story."

"Say it!"

"No, it's a long story!"

"Come on! I _demand_ to know what you were doing naked in Yamamoto's office."

Urahara sighed and lowered his head theatrically. "Fine. It's not a long story."

"Then just _say _it already!"

"I got drunk with Yoruichi and Kyouraku-taichou. I suppose they relocated me."

"Into Yamamoto's office?"

"Don't ever let Yoruichi drink too much, her humor becomes most questionable."

They went down the stairs and, after glancing into the kitchen to see if there were people gathered there – kitchens are _such_ people magnets – and discovering that it was deserted and remarkably clean, he went outside on the porch, where, surely enough, he found Yoruichi and Byakuya. He snatched a bottle of whatever it was from her and sat down next to the non-exile. The two had apparently been talking about responsibilities, duties, nobility and why exactly the woman should go back to Seireitei. Bad idea, if there ever was one.

"I need to speak to you," he told the man.

"So you've mentioned," Byakuya replied. He seemed half relieved to get away from the discussion which there was no doubt he himself had initiated.

"Eh, we'll leave you to it then, won't we?" Yoruichi pipped in. "Ichigo, I want to have a word with _you_, so let's go inside."

Ichigo shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable, obviously considering both the bottle snatched just a moment ago from her and all his misgivings about having been in bed with her lover until an amazingly short time before.

"I'm not gonna eat ya," she laughed. "Come on!"

The other pair watched them go, Urahara taking out his fan mostly for winding purposes. It was warm and damp and he could use an artificial breeze. Well. He was deceiving himself there. He had the fan out because he didn't feel at all comfortable talking to Byakuya and needed the distraction. The other man was the embodiment of everything Urahara himself was not and it made him feel unmannered, goofy, awkward and generally from another planet. The blond liked himself the way he was and he appreciated the noble qualities the head of the Kuchiki house radiated freely, but communication tended to be an issue. (In other words, they didn't really like each other)

"Eh, might as well get started then," the shopkeeper said. "Apparently, the Central 46 considers Ichigo to be a threat due to his inner hollow. Also they don't know him and they are concerned because he is not restricted by the rules in Seireitei. They want him dead."

Byakuya turned to look at him, incredulous. "Are you certain?"

"I have my sources."

The noble turned his eyes away and became as impassive as usual. "Hm. I will not interfere on his behalf as the Kuchiki head. I will not go against the authority of the 46. Perhaps Zaraki Kenpachi would be better suited."

"Oh, no," Urahara said, with feeling. "_That_ is something I've managed to solve. You see, it was pretty much a fluke--but a good one!--that I obtained immunity from Seireitei for both myself and _any lover_ I may have from the Spirit King himself."

Byakuya's incredulous look returned in full force and Urahara grinned. He loved grinning. And even if the Kuchiki was elegant, noble and stoic, the shopkeeper had his own store of insanity, slyness, intelligence and he loved pushing the discussion around in the direction he wanted it, getting the benefit of full reactions in the mean time.

"You were still young back then, 80 years ago, and as far as I know, it was considered to be one of those embarrassing occurrences that Soul Society tries to keep hidden. You wouldn't have heard that this is why Yoruichi wasn't really pursued and why my location is now known without me being dragged to jail. So Ichigo is protected against them by basically being with me."

"Hmm." Byakuya's stoic facade was back, which meant it needed tearing down again.

"You're probably wondering why I need your help, then. It's really quite simple. _My_ immunity was broken. They sent two people here to discuss Ichigo's status with me and convince me that his immunity should be withdrawn. One of them was Kuchiki Aaoyama."

Byakuya made a noise at the back of his throat which, if Urahara hadn't known better, he could have considered a growl. "He is not a great asset to our family." Which it is to be supposed was a pretty big insult, all things considered. The blond was entertained enough by the discussion to manage to push the fact that he was basically discussing a traumatic event at the back of his mind. He felt himself a bit strained around the edges, trying a bit too hard to ignore it, but it seemed to work. He just hoped there wouldn't be hell to pay later.

"In_deed_. Well, his persuasion methods left much to be desired. I am afraid that I allowed myself be bound, confident that nobody would be foolish enough to hurt me. As such, I guess I should be happy to be alive. It is not a mistake I shall ever repeat."

"He almost killed you?"

"No, but sometimes I wish he would have." His mask nearly slipped at that line, the truth of it striking a bit too close to home. He kept the sing-song voice to the end of it, against his misgivings, against wanting to finish it flatly, to make it sound as real as it was. "I suppose his logic was to threaten me and turn me off men forever. Possibly out of sexuality. He made use of Zaraki Kenpachi's gigai to … well...." The shopkeeper paused. He found that there was a knot at the back of his throat and couldn't finish that sentence as casual as always.

"Yes?"

"His punishment was sexual, Kuchiki-san. And violent." There went the sing-song voice, his metaphorical mask spinning on the floor meters away, rotating slower and slower, stopping, the mental image reminding him of a film detail. Its owner found himself a lot stiller. He felt naked, vulnerable, cold and incapable of continuing in his usual insane manner.

"When you say that...." Byakuya said, noticing the change.

"Rape."

As the single word struck the noble, sending him into thoughts while Urahara watched carefully for his reaction, the shopkeeper noticed that not only pain, but also a sudden revelation might cause a person to forget about what they usually acted. Byakuya dropped his noble stuck-up manner and suddenly seemed to be that much more human. His shoulders slumped slightly and he became more tired all of a sudden, more real. And this is what the shopkeeper saw under the other's own illusions and masks: he was alone, but didn't seem to mind it terribly. He was smooth and elegant and had a feline grace that wasn't as stiff as it would appear at other times. He was thin. And he was, perhaps, more noble than ever before. The difference between this man and the boy whom he'd left behind in Seireitei was enormous. He'd grown up in more ways than one, becoming solitary, but no less caring. He wouldn't smile often, the blond had this feeling, but he would be kind. Was this what his wife had seen in him?

And then Urahara wondered what had gotten him to hide himself despite having no need to, since the original was better than the mask and nobody would dare say a bad word against a man like him now. Perhaps it had been Yoruichi's taunts, forever nagging at him, making him feel disrespected. Maybe it had been the responsibility of fighting both for his clan and against it. The expectations....

Of course, another anvil dropped in his mind as he realized with a twinge that it might also have been his Zanpakuto. Now they all said it was elegant – but back then? When he'd been a kid? What did they say, all the children, the entire family, the members of the academy? The Kuchiki heir had flower petals to fight with. Despite the traditional value of _hanami_, of watching these very petals every spring, despite all nobles in all ages that could be remembered in Japan watching cherry blossoms fall, it was still something … elegant, yes, but weak, pure, contemplative. Not fight-like. Not strong. Everybody else had cool powers, cool swords. But Byakuya when young? A boy who could make cherry petals. How much they must have teased him. Pure. Flowery. Ha, ha. And there was that damnable saying that pretty swords were for girls and boys who had them were basically going to be with other boys. Manly boys. They must have called him gay. Flowers, prettiness weren't for _manly_ heroes.

It was _false_, of course, as there was hardly if ever any indications of sexual orientation in the zanpakutou type, because many characteristics could be interpreted in various ways, but children and newbies are mean. Sword-taunting was like teasing each other in the locker rooms, over who had the biggest or the smallest _goods_. He wondered if women were the same – if they were mean about how big their breasts were. But they probably weren't. Maybe about how fat they were, he'd heard _that_ complaint a million times. Boys were meaner. As a middle size himself, Urahara had never really bothered either way, not in the long run. It hadn't been either a stress or an ego-booster. Not a superiority complex, not an inferiority one. Mastering the art of being deliciously wicked had also helped.

Tousen, as far as he remembered, had been one of the small kids, which explained his re-orientation towards justice. And Aizen was among the largest, which explained a lot of things. Freud had had his points. It was also amazing how word of these things traveled. The only people he'd never heard anything about were.... Well, Yamamoto, obviously, who kept popping up into people's conversations lately, and.... well, he knew Shuuhei was better endowed than Renji, because the latter had mentioned something of the sort. No, Soi Fon was a woman.... Gin's was long and thin.... Which man didn't he know anything about? Byakuya! He knew nothing about Byakuya.

…And he was _not_ just sitting there next to the very man thinking of penis sizes.

Snapping back to reality and pushing away the thought that he had no clue how the younger man stood in that respect, he whipped out his fan and started fluttering from sheer embarrassment. He'd given up sleeping in the same room as relatives (especially his mother) very early in his youth because he'd always had the weird feeling that people can look right into your head if you're not careful.

He supposed that explained a lot about his personality.

Byakuya finally sorted things out inside his mind, because he finally spoke, thankfully interrupting the strange pathway down thought lane over there.

"He will be dealt with."

Aaand, that was _just_ the point. "No."

"Sorry?"

Urahara grinned from behind his fan towards the noble, having anticipated the look of utter disbelief and confusion that would settle on Byakuya's face. Indeed, it was there for about half a second before he schooled it into submission. The shopkeeper decided he really liked shocking people. "If I just wanted to bring down Kuchiki Aaoyama, I could have done it myself. Nicely, secretly. I used to be a captain. And there is no way to my wily ends." Mind you, the last part of the sentence was a slip that would have been better off not there, but still.

"Then what _do_ you want?" Confusion. Byakuya was being played like a harp. Yes, it was mean. Yes, it was something Urahara did intentionally because maybe he _did_ have a little complex around people like him. But he was still having fun.

"Is the Central 46 still doing nothing, even in its new formation?"

"...yes."

"Then, since they're not helping with the war effort, I want to bring down the old order once and for all. Before these guys also get too comfortable in their chairs. And I need general support from the important families. Yoruichi is on my side. I was hoping you would be, too. For a revolution in the administrative and juridic areas, represented by the 46. What happened to me, to your sister and, again, to me, and to Ichigo, shouldn't happen again. We're shinigami, but if the real world would know what's going on, we'd be the laughing stock of every kangaroo court in existence."

Byakuya had stopped trying to school his expression. "How are you aiming to do this?"

"Oh, simple enough. Gather my evidence – I happen to have video cameras installed throughout my house – and shove it in their face. Then I'll make a brilliant case stating they don't know who they're hiring, attack by showing that they kicked me out of Seireitei for no real reason and never bothered to verify anything, didn't catch a whiff of Aizen – that's going to hurt, since their very predecessors were the ones to end up dead. And stating that we need better laws and perhaps communication between shinigami and the 46, maybe even a few people out in the field, you know, actually _knowing_ a thing about the stuff you judge. And if nothing else works, I'll make them an offer they can't refuse, but I won't drag you into that one."

"An … offer they can't refuse?"

Somebody had never heard of _The Godfather_.Urahara smiled, closed his fan, tapped it against his neck twice, then dragged it across his neck in a sweeping gesture. "You know. An offer you _can't_ refuse. Because otherwise, there's no telling the consequences. I really hope we won't get to that."

"I will not support such a thing."

"You support a new law, though, don't you? A new system? One that doesn't act like the brain of a retarded chicken?"

"I will not involve myself in _threats _and _murders_, Urahara Kisuke."

"And I am not asking you to. I was just saying that it is the length I'm willing to go to, if necessary, but I need support so we _don't_ get there."

"One of my younger cousins is in the Central 46 now. She is not a fool."

"I'm sure she isn't."

"She had better not be harmed."

"I do not intend to actually harm. That would defeat the purpose."

"...That is not what you've just said."

"To threaten and to put your words to action are two very different things. But you will find I am very inventive in my threats."

"...I see."

"I want this to work. I want a Central 46 that isn't a permanent nuisance. Who will not send innocent men to jail or to death or seal away their powers and let the guilty run off. I am not expecting 100% efficiency. I am expecting more than complete uselessness."

Byakuya looked him straight in the eyes, perhaps for the first time ever, and said, "then you shall have my support."

"Thank y--"

He was cut off by a loud screech that made him wince. Why him? Why did this always happen to _him_?

"Blondy, I'm hooooooooooooooooooooome!"

"Ye gods," Urahara hissed. "That woman...."

"Is she your...." Byakuya didn't know how to finish that question, but the shopkeeper didn't care for any possible ending.

"She's not my anything, nor ever shall be. I can't stand otakus."

"Otaku?"

"She calls herself a linguist, I know. But don't trust her on that. She's a universal otaku. It should be forbidden to have that much enthusiasm about _everything_."

Shichi landed gracefully in front of them, grinning from ear to ear. She showed them a bunch of DVDs and CDs and waved them around like no tomorrow before the rather weary eyes of the two men.

"Look! I found the Flintstones, dubbed in Japanese! I wonder how that phrase will sound in the dub! And look! There's the soundtrack to "Chicago" and isn't the _Cell Block Tango_ the best song ever? And there's the soundtrack to Anastasia! In the Dark of the Night!"

"Shichi, too many exclamation marks," Urahara said, smiling, but also on his guard. She was a decent woman, he repeated to himself. Despite the swearing and the singing; and the fawning over swearing and singing. And the sort of attention that centered only around things she was interested in, ignoring everything else. Yes. He liked Shichi. He did not dare not to like Shichi.

He wondered idly what a "self-made, real life Mary Sue" was and why she insisted on calling herself that.

"Shush, you. I can't find these things during any other time than when I'm visiting earth and let me tell you, the musicians at court are _crap_. I never appreciated traditional Japanese music and if I ever have to listen to another Noh play again, I'll go bananas. Which reminds me! Have you read Banana Yoshimoto's "Kitchen"!"

"Is the last one a question?"

"Fine," she said, sighing long and dropping her enthusiasm with much reluctance and seeming to return to whatever passed for maturity in her book. "No other fans around here. Restrain myself. Got it." She sat between them. "So, what's new? I see you're out of bed, blondy-shopkeeper. He looks like a sweet boy, that one. Loved the way you dragged him off right away, didn't think you had it in you, but never mind that. By the way, here's a letter for you." She took it out of her sleeve and handed it to Urahara, who put it inside his own clothes. He'd look at it later. "I haven't found anything of great interest, still waiting for the Seireitei team to report back to me. In the meantime, I'll crash in the hammock under the roof, as usual, if you don't mind."

"Yes, of course, make yourself at home." On a third or fourth thought, he really did like her, he supposed. For knowing when to stop being a pest.

"Thank you," she said and hazarded a grin at Byakuya, about to say something when Yoruichi came out, Ichigo in tow.

"Hello, kid," Shichi nodded to Ichigo. "Heard you were the new big hero around here. When you become insanely strong, give me a call through Urahara and we'll hand you an offer to work in the Zero Division."

Ichigo stopped, looked uncertainly between everybody else there, trying to decide whether it was a joke or not and how seriously he should take it, then shrugged and said, noncommittally: "Erm, thanks ... I … guess?" He scratched his head and frowned at her. She nodded, his unenthusiastic response not putting her off.

"Kisuke, there's some research you've _got_ to do," Yoruichi said, jumping to the unoccupied side next to the shopkeeper. "There's been some stuff said today you shouldn't miss. It doesn't have anything to do with the war effort, but...."

"What is it?"

"According to the _expert spy_ Yachiru, it would appear that Zaraki Kenpachi is, to quote her exact words, a sex god."

He whipped his head around to stare incredulously.

"Zaraki?"

"Yeah! He made some comments about lasting half an hour – and was surprised when he found out that wasn't the average, he said something about "not spilling", which I take to mean he doesn't ejaculate, as such, so I'm still trying to figure out what's in it for the guy, but...."

"Actually, half an hour was a random number," Shichi said, smiling, lost in her own little world. "He can last as long as he wants and can have orgasms without ejaculating."

...and all heads turned to her, studying the very dreamy smile on her face and trying to come to a conclusion that wasn't the one they'd already come to about its origins, when related to her extensive knowledge.

"How do you know that?" Byakuya asked.

She grinned at him in a way that could only be described as flirty. The shopkeeper remembered her tendency towards affairs whenever she got away from the Spirit King's world and wondered if her team had started betting on the subject this time. Urahara tended to seduce, to delight, to try to make it special. He was a dreamer, a lover. Shichi, on the other hand, was direct, to the point, cynical, and wham-bam-thank-you-mate and may the gods protect you if you suggested anything bad about that habit of hers. He supposed she was terrible enough that one wouldn't dare call her bad names behind her back and Yoruichi had hinted, though how she knew he'd never found out, that the entire problem stemmed from being amazingly frustrated in love and needing to burn off steam. He remembered the relationship between her and Shincho, but, still, that much and no change of interest.... Anyway, the question of himself hitting it off with her had never arisen. They were just too different. And if that smile and that knowledge meant what he thought they meant....

"The usual way," Shichi said in her most come-hither voice, which then changed to an almost erotic whisper which appeared to make Byakuya recoil. "I _asked_." The shopkeeper nearly snickered. So he wasn't the only one who liked playing the man. Back to her normal tone. "And he answered. I stopped him on the street as he was about to head back. He was surprised nobody'd heard of this, since it had come as a logical conclusion to him and he admitted that he doesn't consider himself the brightest captain ever to exist. It must be one of those logical conclusions that come to the simple minded." It was an offensive statement, but she didn't seem to consider it such. Maybe Zaraki wouldn't, either?

"I'll.... look into it," the blond promised. "Perhaps not now, but if he's right, it could be interesting research. I need to get a rest anyway."

"You haven't changed much, have you?" Shichi commented. "Research then, research now.... Well, to each their own, I suppose."

The shopkeeper barely managed to refrain from pointing out that a person who had decided she was a linguist wasn't the one to comment on such things. But he didn't want to bicker.

"Erm. I need to go home," Ichigo said. "My family might want to see me."

"You can stay," Yoruichi said. "I don't mean to drive you away."

"No, I wanted to leave. Told Urahara so, too."

Yoruichi considered it and apparently didn't know what to make of that statement, truth wise, because she added, "And I want to make myself scarce for awhile, too. Need to see what Seireitei is up to lately."

"Not much," Shichi told her. "As far as my own sources told me, anyway. Healing the injured, all that. There's no dead, Urahara, by the way, thanks for asking. We could all feel your concern miles away. There were just many wounded."

"I know."

"How?"

"Your expressions when you came in. You didn't look like people whose friends just died."

"Yeah, well, who knows? Maybe that fat guy from the second division could have died and you wouldn't have been able to read it on anybody's faces, much less Soi Fon's, who was supposed to be his captain.... By the way, where is that sexy bitch with a coldness that makes my heart melt, pardon the lack of logic?"

"Eh?" Yoruichi said, voicing everybody's opinion on that particular choice of sentiment. "Soi Fon? Makes your heart melt? Well, she's … somewhere, I suppose. She said you said you wanted her for something."

"Oh, I want her alright," Shichi said with a lascivious smile. She seemed to have a collection of mind-in-the-gutter phrases and grins. "I definitely want her. Good! I'll go Soi Fon scouting, then. Ciao!"

And with her leaving, the gang pretty much broke up, Byakuya excusing himself for no particular reason, Yoruichi going catty and disappearing and Ichigo dragging Urahara with him, because 'he had a favor to ask'. And Urahara, being Urahara, couldn't resist the curiosity and went with him.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The discussion between Yoruichi and Ichigo had been short. The first points had been: she wasn't giving up on _her_ shopkeeper. She wasn't about to interfere with the two men's relationship, either. She didn't mind Ichigo, she was just telling him not to get too comfy with being solo. And that being said, she wanted them to go on to the actually important part, which had less to do with who warmed his bed for the night and more to do with the man himself.

"He's got an amazingly complicated mind, even when he could think simpler," she said. "It's in his nature to hide. It's in his nature to worry. It's in his nature to agonize over moral choices and beat them all away with a smile when push comes to shove. He's a tender man, sensitive, but who has no problem nearly killing you if he must – I'm sure you've noticed that. But he worries, he questions himself, he's insecure in many things. Never comment on the moments he loses his mask, never point out that he's acting or not acting, because it won't be appreciated. Take him as he is. Don't demand too much when he's worried. Stay clear when he's under pressure. And when he's as stressed and as harassed and as desperate as now, try to be a pressure-lifter, not additional pressure. Sex is good. If he's willing to give you time, sex is very good. Don't push for time if he doesn't want to offer it."

"What sort of a relationship do you have, that you're actually telling me to sleep with him?" Ichigo almost growled. "I don't get you people!" Refrain of the night, he thought.

"Listen," she said. "I want him to be fine. That's my main priority. He's more to me than just a lover. Get that? He wants you, so, since you're willing, he should have what he wants. Right now I think I'm too dominating for him, so what the hell? Make him happy."

"And you'll be happy with somebody else, too, I guess. Again, what sort of a relationship do you two guys have?"

"An open one," she breathed and the younger man got a very clear feeling of deja vu. Maybe they were brother and sister and this was incestuous. No, no, wrong. Very wrong thought there. "More or less. More on his side. Ichigo, actually...."

"What? No, don't tell me." He was starting to lose his patience. He didn't understand what was going on and they were just being insane around him. "You're married to another man." If they want insanity, here's insanity!

"No. Actually, during these 100 years of being with Kisuke, I had a grand total of three other lovers, all of whom affairs, and they were there because I hadn't seen _him_ for months."

"What? But he said...."

"I _told_ him I liked sleeping around." No. This just didn't make sense. This was weird. This was so far off from normality that he might as well wake up soon, because it couldn't be reality. "I lied. I don't want to be with other men. Don't feel the need. Sometimes I lie even to myself, it makes it easier not to get caught red handed."

"But... but... _why_?" he nearly cried out that question.

"Aw, crap, gotta delete the surveillance tape so he doesn't hear this. Trust me when I say he's happier thinking of me this way. Less pressure to please me when he's caught up in something and no moral dilemma eating at him."

Moral dilemma? No pressure? Ichigo really, really, really felt way out in wacko land. "You're insane."

"Probably." At least she admitted that in all seriousness.

"I don't get it."

"Yeah, well," she shrugged. "We don't get everything we want to get in life."

So Ichigo let it go. Because sometimes it's better not to argue with the crazies.

//////////////////////

Urahara and Ichigo reached the younger man's house, the older one still wondering what that favor he'd been asked for was all about. They came through the window. Kon was lying down on the bed, dozing and he nearly jumped when he saw the two of them looming above him.

"Go for a walk, will you, Kon?" Ichigo asked and Urahara could only wonder what the other man had in mind and if it weren't somehow the same thing that went through his own mind right then. Which would mean both men had their minds in the gutter. And, since the discussion with Byakuya hadn't taken that long and had gone so well, he deserved, and had time for, a treat.

"Yeah. Sure," the compact soul replied, shifting his eyes between the two of them.

"Stay away for a few hours, ok?"

"'k...."

"Good."

After the mod soul went off, stealing glances behind him, confused, Urahara looked at Ichigo, who fidgeted a bit, his cheeks reddening. Ah. Both their minds _were_ in the gutter.

"I have a fantasy, Urahara. That's what I wanted to ask you about."

"Kisuke."

"Sorry?"

It had been an inner debate for awhile now. He didn't want the kid to come too close – this was supposedly a relationship from interest and it couldn't be good to become attached, but at the same time he couldn't deny that it was moving towards something more, something different. It had made him feel better at the beginning that the kid didn't get too close in spite of their deeds, but now it was bothering him. He reached out to touch him and his fingers brushed against the younger man's arm as he smiled his usual, charming, kitsune smile.

"Call me Kisuke."

Ichigo blushed even deeper and opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, swallowed, licked his lips. He was almost trembling, battling with himself.

"I have a fantasy, _Kisuke_."

There. That felt better. Two men who sleep with each other shouldn't call themselves by their last name. He was Kisuke now. Just as the red haired man in front of him was Ichigo, despite the fact that the fruity name seemed silly for a sulking, grave young man whose taste would not have been sweet, if he had been edible, but bitter-sweet-spicy, just like cinnamon hot chocolate coffee. Not that the shopkeeper was in the habit of thinking of his lovers as food, but with a name like _Ichigo_ you were just asking for it. He'd never considered Yoruichi's flavor, or his own, but now that he thought about, he could say she was creamy and dark and....

"I want you to sleep with me. In my bed."

His thoughts cut short by this abrupt statement, the blond could only stare in surprise. Was this the best the kid could come up with as a fantasy? Really, at his age, Kisuke had been exploring the miracles of mental imagery, which allowed one to dream of two women and a steamy bath in the same place. Silk. Licking and sucking of toes. That had been _before _he'd gotten creative. His surprise must have shown on his face, because Ichigo launched into an embarrassed explanation.

"Do you have any idea how it feels to sleep here, alone, for many, many nights and imagine having sex in this very bed? I've always wanted.... Always pictured.... In my room."

A projected image, again and again, every dark night when one's hand was wandering in nether regions. Yes, he could see the appeal. Even if it lacked style. But there were other factors to consider, such as the danger of getting caught.

"It isn't a very good idea...."

"Please? We can make it quick. Besides, if I remember correctly, the girls are out."

"We shouldn't." He didn't want to make it quick. And he didn't want to risk a confrontation with Isshin – even if the worse confrontation with the sisters was out of the question.

Then the younger man kissed him, leading to his undoing, a greater and greater part of his brain demanding to know why they shouldn't do this and saying that chances of being caught on the first try were minimal, while the other side of him, more careful, lost ground by the second. Teaching Ichigo how to kiss had been a double-edged sword that he was now falling prey to. Especially when the young man beat the world record for undressing speed and didn't even wait for Kisuke to remove his.

"No teasing," he told Kisuke. "Not now. Quick. Fast. Hard. Please."

And the blond was very fast in complying. Soon enough, they were on the bed, on top of the sheets, hurrying to get enough of the older man's clothes out of the way to make things possible. It reminded the shopkeeper of their first time together, of all things, as he was actually encouraged to dominate, to move fast, to _have_. Still, he wasn't going to complain.

Well, he was a bit more in control, more aware of the two of them, that he should be careful....

Careful about what, he didn't know, but didn't bother to over-think it as the younger man clung to him as if he were a lifeline. He was in a frenzy, more mental than physical, demanding to be pounded into the mattress, which Kisuke did with pleasure. Really, who'd have known the kid had it in him? He bit down hard on his neck, earning a groan and a few thrusts of the hips before , in record time, Ichigo climaxed.

"Gods," he breathed. "Yes, _finally_."

The blond smirked, pinning him down, kissing him madly, frenetically while he moved for his own completion, growling low in his throat. "You want it fast and hard, so now you're get--"

The door opened suddenly, hard, fast, nearly banging against the wall and Kisuke jerked up, his eyes still hazy with lust, with the conquering drive awakened by Ichigo, dark, strong, breathing hard, feeling himself at the very edge. And then he froze. Isshin was there. Isshin, whose son he had right beneath him, naked, flushed, _had_, innocence taken advantage of.

"Don't move," the young man said, after a second, in a tone that spoke of parched lips. "He can't see us. He can't see spirits. But he might see the sheets rustling."

Kisuke and Isshin looked at each other, the haze evaporating from the blond, leaving him guilty, ashamed, a fool under Isshin's cold, collected loathing.

///////

AN: As usual, please review! It means a lot to me.


	12. Of Arrancars and Hate

**Disclaimer**: If I were Tite Kubo and owned Bleach, they'd skewer me for updating as tardily as I do. And I couldn't go back and say "ZOMG, I GAVE YOU THE WRONG ONE!"

**Author's Note 2:** I AM AN IDIOT! I am a complete and utter dunce who uploaded the unfinished, sucky, miserable, version of the chapter. The UNEDITED, BAD, HORRID chapter. IDIOT! I can't believe I did this! I. Am. An. Idiot. I usually check to make sure things are fine, but nooooooo, I had to run off and post the bad version and never look back twice! (well, except I did eventually look back)

Readers, i am SO sorry. I am horribly, horribly sorry for this and I hope you will forgive me. That's the version I had on my computer awhile back and... Somehow it got mixed up with the real one and... awww, maaaaan. You so deserve better of me.

**Author's Note**: Gaaah! Sorry about the lateness! I mean... Wtf? I didn't mean for it to take this long! It was supposed to be a fast chapter... And then Kisuke told me he still has some major issues to be solved and that he wanted something different and I had to obey and it was a difficult chapter and... and...

And thanks to Lanen, who asked where I was and got me typing again.

In my defense, I was busy writing my BA dissertation, taking exams and other such unpleasant RL things.

So, without bugging you anymore about me, I give you

**Chapter 12: The Author is Quite Bored and Through With Alliterative Titles, so This One Is Called 'Of Arrancars and Hate'**

"Where's Soi Fon?" Shichi snarled, looking around for something to kick for emphasis. "I thought I'd told her to stick around!"

Seeing the woman spinning around like a maddened tiger, Yoruichi found it wise to stop walking towards the back room and attempt to calm her down; she resisted the urge to sigh loudly. Many years back, when they'd met, the Zero Division member had had the fantastic ability to ignore everything that didn't particularly interest her at the time. This extraordinary and rarely useful ability seemed to have remained intact.

"She might have gone back to Soul Society," Yoruichi explained in what she felt was a calm, reasonable voice. She had work to do, upset guest or not, and she didn't want to be held up, no matter how wise it was to delay her intended action some more. There was a very good reason why she'd asked Ichigo to take Kisuke away and it was to keep him rested and out of her hair while she took care of things and only presented him with them when they were done and he couldn't protest. "Hey, have you considered going after her?" the cat woman continued. "You know, hunt her down, have a chat, spend the night over someplace else?" And, of course, that _amazingly subtle_ hint was entirely ignored as Shichi continued to fume and rant on and on about somebody who hadn't followed her plan. It was hard to describe the Zero Division Member's attitude and feelings. Frustration attack, maybe? Just like a panic attack or an anxiety attack, but substituting the fear for rage and curses. This made her that much more expressive and dramatic, not that she needed _more _expressiveness.

Once the curses against life and limb and sexual anarchy – whatever that latter might have meant – subsided, Shichi settled for wistfulness. "She's so _smooth_ and **bloody** and hot. I really _wish_ I had the same elegance, but I'm doomed to be forever **too rugged** for that. You're pretty neat, too. But you're not _Soi_. You're just unsexy _Yoruichi_."

Still, the variety of tones she used was a bit impressive. Was it one of her linguist things? Or did she also go in for voice acting? And, just about then, when the content of the speech finally registered, the cat woman could only think that somebody had a crush – even if it was entirely unlikely. Shichi barely knew Soi Fon. Everybody _joked _about the 2nd Division captain, who'd been transformed into something of a romantic, infinitely persistent running gag. Shichi couldn't have had the time to fall for her, could she? She couldn't have decided to have a crush on Soi Fon before reaching the real world either - although, truthfully, if that were the case, Yoruichi wouldn't be too surprised.

Looking at the woman again, Yoruichi noticed that she seemed _concentrated_, amazingly set on having her own way... Maybe it wasn't a crush, or maybe it was actually a... She drew a blank there. Who knew what else it could be but a crush; but this turn of events was surprising, to say the least. If she remembered correctly, which she did, Shichi had a particularly frustrated love life. Just like Soi Fon. Could two frustrated, murderous women get together and be less frustrated and murderous?

One could always hope, she presumed.

"What are _you_ doing?" Shichi asked, finally, coming back to reality. "Right now?"

Unless somehow the other woman was throwing her lust about and latching on to any available, willing person, which she was infamous for in various circles - but those circles weren't necessarily objective and some were malicious - then she'd finished her rant and wanted a distraction. At least, Yoruichi hoped so. She didn't want to take Soi Fon's place as the newest victim.

"I'm busy," Yoruichi answered with a huge grin and a hint of an embarrassed "ahahaha". Scratch all coherent logic when it came to Shichi; nobody knew what went on through that woman's head. Nobody was safe, romantically or otherwise. The cat woman wanted to make sure she'd get away, because the term 'sexual predator' was very worrying when dealing with somebody as strong as the seventh seat of the Zeroes. She was sure that she would never be _harmed_, but _embarrassed_? Oh, yes.

"Busy with what?"

Think quick. Answer. Dodge. Don't let her latch on to you in any possibly romantic situation. "Well, there's still two Arrancar in a back room that everybody's been ignoring for awhile and I might as well interview them, since I'm better than Kisuke at it and he's overworked and tired." _I'm busy,_ she was subtly saying. Doing amazingly serious stuff. No time for romance.

"When you say _interview_..."

"Interrogate is such a nasty word." Display of humor. Bad idea.

"Brilliant. I'm coming with you. There's some really important things I need to ask."

Yorucihi stared a bit, wondered whether it was a good idea to take the other with her, or whether it wouldn't be better to invent some excuse, then realized she couldn't come up with any on the spot and nodded. Oh, she really, really hoped that things weren't about to go in the bad direction because of this...

Finally, she decided that Shichi was generally oblivious, but not completely obtuse, so it wasn't about to turn _really_ embarrassing. After all, the two women were hardly likely to tackle in a horizontal tango in front of war prisoners, surely Shichi realized that. Surely she wouldn't try anything weird in front of a toddler and a young enemy.

...It was only later that Yoruichi would realize that she was being entirely paranoid for no good reason, while the object of her paranoia was entirely innocent, if over-dramatic. She would reconsider her belief that stress wasn't affecting her; she would relax and remember that not everybody was interested in being part of strange love triangles containing Kisuke or herself. And, incidentally, one of the things she would _not_ realize anytime soon was that Shichi had a very good reason for spacing out, being distracted and having a temperament and mind like a roller coaster. It was simply that people didn't realize her motivation. Nor the fact that she was, in fact, plotting like mad, as everybody is bound to do after they've lived for a few hundred years.

Right now, the two women entered the room where the Arrancar were kept. It wasn't very large, but it was quiet and cozy, despite the entire lack of furniture - a feature that Kisuke was quite fond of, if one were to judge by the bareness of the house. Grimmjow and Nel had been brought in barely conscious, had been given sedatives just in case, had reiatsu suppressors placed on them until they were reduced to powerless spirits, were healed, and then they were promptly forgotten about until right now. Apparently, they had woken up in the mean time. Grimmjow was leaning against a wall, having abandoned his futon. He looked calm, but then again, anybody would after all the injuries he'd received and the aforementioned sedatives. Nel was sobbing beneath her sheet and mumbling something that Yoruichi couldn't quite comprehend.

"Where's the big guy?" Grimmjow asked, when the two of them came in. "Tessura, or wossname."

"Tessai. He's away right now," Yoruichi said. She realized briefly that if this had been a film, or if she had been much less confident in herself, she'd have answered something along the lines of 'we'll be doing the asking'. But really, why bother. These two didn't look like they were going to be much trouble. "What are you called?"

"I'm Grimmjow, she's Nel."

"Why's Nel crying?"

"Fuck if I know. Ask _her_."

Yoruichi studied him for a second or two, trying to figure out if he was deliberately being rude or just himself. Deciding that they apparently had another swearing case on their hands, she turned and asked in her kindest voice, "Kid, what's wrong?"

Nel launched into a wail explaining how Ichigo – or Itsugo, as she called him – had been hurt and how Aizen was gonna be pissed with her and everybody, and how she couldn't go back to Hueco Mundo and her friends were back there and she was in this room with a really strong Espada and she was scared and there were all these frightening shinigami around and she'd heard a big man, but not the big guy who healed them, suggest they should be murdered and she didn't want to die and she wanted to go back to her buddies and Grimmjow was scary because he was so strong and she wanted Itsugo.

"Can't you get her to shut up?" Grimmjow growled low. "You have no idea how tired I am." Yoruichi scooped Nel up in her arms, reasoning that a kid was a kid, whatever their species or spirit eating status might be.

Shichi's mothering instincts being absent at the time, she turned towards the blue haired Espada. "Hey, it can't be all pleasant when you're a prisoner," she said, rolling her eyes. "This isn't a hotel, ya know, to cater to your needs. Okay, I have questions for you."

"I have questions, too."

She scowled at him. "Tough luck, I actually have reiatsu, so I'll be going first." Yoruichi figured it was an amazingly honest, while unfair, thing to say. Nel clung to her and sobbed, albeit more quietly now. Grimmjow chose to ask anyway, ignoring Shichi's remark.

"Are the other Espada still alive?"

"Fuck. Was _that_ what you had to ask? They must have been your friends, I suppose. I'm sorry. All dead." The Zero Division member didn't seem to have any sort of compassion, just annoyance, although not specifically with Grimmjow.

Yoruichi held the sniffling Nel in her arms and watched the other two. Grimmjow didn't say anything for awhile, just staring at Shichi, who looked straight back at him, waiting, actually starting to focus on reality, possibly realizing that serious issues shouldn't be half-acknowledged. Finally, he spoke. "I hated them. Ulquiorra was the worst. Nnoitora was a bastard. Szayel was a creep. Still..."

"Still, you're alive," Shichi finished the idea for him, perhaps differently than he would have. "Shit happens. At least we know there's life after death, so there's probably life after the afterlife, too. Now, mourning over. Have you seen this man?"

She took out a picture that Grimmjow looked very hard at. Yoruichi approached, carrying Nel in her arms. She peaked at the photo over the woman's shoulder and was surprised to recognize the Spirit King – or his twin brother. She couldn't figure out which of them it was, but it was definitely one of them.

"What is he, a shinigami?" the Espada asked, shrugging. "Nah, it was just Aizen, that creep Gin and Tousen the weirdo from your kind."

"Nobody else? Masked, hidden, whatever? Obscured presences, forbidden rooms or wings? Hidden corridors?"

"Las Noches is a big place. I guess you could hide something somewhere, but there was never anything that looked suspicious."

"Did any of the shinigami leave for the real world? Frequently? Rarely? At any time?"

"As I said, it was a big place. Hard to keep tabs. And it's not as if we actually _wanted_ to look for them. Except Ulquiorra; he had a thing for Aizen, went after him at the oddest moments. If you ask me, he was a... Well. Soooo, you say he's dead, not much help then, eh?"

Shichi breathed in and out slowly in something resembling a prolonged sigh. She removed most of her attention from the world. You could call other people 'thoughtful', but Yoruichi's personal opinion was that she just disappeared inside her own real world when considering things. "I see. I don't suppose the kid knows anything?" she asked, looking somewhere past Grimmjow.

"She tends to forget her own name. Literally. I doubt she can remember anything as complicated as whatever you want."

Shichi nodded slowly. "Thanks, I guess. Well then, all yours, Yoruichi." She returned to reality, actually appearing to see things around her and looked at Nel. "And, oi, kid."

Nel sniffed a bit. "Eh?"

"He's as powerless as you are right now, so stop worrying so much. 'Sides, you're on the same side now, whatever that may be." She smiled at Nel and the cat woman was surprised to see how sane and nice she looked. "I'm off. Need to find Soi Fon."

The former 2nd Division captain watched her leave and pieced things together as best as she could. So, the black sheep of the royal family was running off again? Could that be it? Yoruichi turned towards Grimmjow and let Nel down. She had questioning to do and they should start considering what to do with the Arrancar.

Also, she realized that she had been as coiled up and tense as a spring and paying much too much attention to the other woman. Just like in Komamura's presence. She was a bit too much of a cat inside, she supposed, having her hair stick on its end subconsciously in the presence of some people, while she instantly liked others. She'd have to consider it at some point. When she had the time.

/

"Don't move. He can't see us. He can't see spirits. But he might see the sheets rustling."

The words made a very specific sort of horror spread through Kisuke's body, from the pits of his stomach and out towards the farthest ends of his toes, his fingers, his hairs. Ichigo _didn't know_. He thought himself invisible. He thought himself safe. But the two of them, the old shinigami, they knew each other, and then they also simply _knew_. The shopkeeper was suddenly very aware of his position, of Isshin's opinions on homosexuality, of the way he was still buried deep in the son, while the father could see the aftereffects of the younger man's orgasm on his body. He was aware of how graphic it was, how they didn't have a sheet conveniently draped over themselves as movies tended to have in situations like this. No. They were open. They were obvious. Well, Kisuke was still dressed. Still had the hat on. And even though his erection had withered away, the blond couldn't bring himself to remove it from his lover's body because that would mean even more exposure. He was trapped. Isshin was trapped. And Ichigo had no clue about it, trying to stand still and thinking that would solve everything.

The older Kurosaki was going to murder him. Slice him to pieces. Tear him apart because their clothing status spoke of something other than equality, because even though he was aware of this affair, he hadn't _seen_ it before, not really. It looked like molesting. As if he were using Ichigo, a quick shag, which while partly true, was more consensual than it might seem. Less irresponsible. Less horrid.

The two old friends (now possibly enemies) exchanged a _look_. It wasn't very readable for either of them, since neither was the sort to wear his emotions on his sleeve. Ichigo _was_ the type. But he was also completely unaware and bliss had nothing to do with that unawareness. That was probably the gist of Kisuke's readable expression, the horror, the scream demanding that the young man should also know. He felt that that fact, more than any other, mattered right now. If Ichigo had known, he'd have jumped, cursed, demanded privacy. He'd have panicked, but understood. _Known_ that his father was seeing him that way. It would have been different for the younger man, fairer, somehow less intrusive.

It might have been that Isshin was thinking the same thing, because he lowered his head, lacking in the usual energy he displayed around his children every day. He didn't throw a tantrum. He didn't rage, blame, he didn't try to get Kisuke's head for it, he didn't do anything insane and violent. And that was good, the blond supposed. Instead, he spoke.

Kisuke closed his eyes and let the father's words wash over him, feeling them reverberate through him, changing things, sealing his destiny in a way he had not meant it to be sealed. There were things he'd rather not have had on display. Now they'd be highlighted. He'd hoped that this thing between him and Ichigo would somehow remain fairly quiet, that somehow he'd get away with everything and keep his privacy. That there would be knowledge, but not scandal. That wasn't going to happen, he realized. It was Isshin who made this obvious, who made Kisuke realize that he had been a fool to even hope that what he had done to Ichigo, what he was doing _with_ the boy, wouldn't move into the domain of the official, the public, the visible, the _scandalous_. Somewhere, deep inside, he had hoped that they would both be _safe_.

He had been so wrong. Maybe just telling Ichigo to run from Seireitei and shinigami would have saved him from much distress, from much condemnation, made his life _easier_.

"Actually, son, we need to talk," Isshin said. "Meet me downstairs when you're done."

Ichigo jumped, breaking the connection between the two of them. Thankfully, his father had already closed the door. Kisuke opened his eyes to look at his younger lover scrambling about, turning as red as beet.

"What the-? I thought he couldn't see—He always claimed he couldn't see. This is so bloody... So..."

He agitated himself around the room for awhile, picking up his clothes and muttering and cursing alternately. When he finally got decently dressed, he looked at Kisuke more attentively and noticed that their emotions were entirely different. The blond was barely moving, arranging his clothes in an almost slow-motion manner. He was pale and shaking a bit, yes, but not _surprised_. He wasn't _shocked_. He had the grim look of a person who was faced with an inescapable destiny – slightly over-dramatic and _expecting_ things to happen.

"Ura-Kisuke?"

The blond couldn't answer, he just looked at the younger man quietly. He had a sort of resignation that was in itself a plea for not discussing the subject – not that Ichigo could help himself.

"You knew! Didn't you?... Yes. You did. Why didn't you tell me?"

The shopkeeper tried to figure out what Ichigo felt before he figured out not _what_ to answer, for he already knew that, but _how _to answer. Betrayal? No, there was only a very moderate quantity of that on his face. Rage, or outrage, or both. Upset. A desire to smash through things. Maybe he'd have taken this much differently, no, certainly he'd have taken this much differently if they hadn't been caught in the act. He might have accepted things without a problem if the instant of his father's shinigami nature had not been connected with a very personal intrusion. Kisuke felt he'd messed it up for both Ichigo and Isshin, all because of his inability to judge better. "It wasn't my story to tell," he replied at last. "Always his. We should... we should go downstairs. Please. We should... We must..." He stopped mid-sentence and tried to laugh lightly. "My, my, he's going to have my head for this." He only managed a hollow echo of himself. How could he have been so _stupid_ as to assume things would go well? That nobody would get _hurt_ like this? How could he possibly have assumed on no matter what unconscious level that it was going to be _fine_? Because he had. He couldn't stop thinking, rolling the idea in his mind that he had considered this to be private. The idea of dragging a sexual scandal or two through Seireitei as weapons was only now hitting him in its true degrading nature. This, all of this, his sleeping with Ichigo for blackmail, Aaoyama's action, they were so _petty_. How could he have ignored that until then? He was fully using a low, despicable, weapon. Even in winning, he could be nothing better than low. In losing, he'd be one of the lowest of the low.

Ichigo probably noted his paleness, because he let him off, lowering his eyes and fumbling with a sleeve. "And my head, too. Dammit."

"No. He loves you. It's me who has the role of monster." Even if he didn't feel as if it were a role at the moment, but the cold, hard truth. Ichigo returned to silent cursing and trying to make himself more presentable than usual, as if that would manage to somehow balance out his previous posture...

Kisuke felt that the possibility of getting back Isshin's friendship faded away to near nothingness now. He could feel it sliding through his fingers, but he still hoped, still wanted everything to get better. To be fine. Hope died last, because it resisted even logic. But gods, how he hoped. He'd try to explain again, to explain his own feelings, which was not something he usually did. He would _try_ to get things back on an honorable track before they became just stupid entirely. He was no puppet of fate, but a man on his own two feet.

There was a conflict, indeed, between his weakness, his shame, between knowing he was in the wrong and a core that was starting to harden more and more and...

Kisuke cursed. He needed time. He desperately needed time. It was only now that he was starting to realize how badly everything was going within him. He needed time. He needed time.

He also needed space.

Isshin was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the wall, probably arranging his thoughts. He was leaning back against his chair, staring at the ceiling. He invited them to join him and they discovered that tea was in the process of being made. Isshin was silent, pensive, acting as if this were an invitation to dinner, as if they were in some sane context. The entire scene was so calm, so normal, that it felt abnormal. It would have been better if the man had screamed and raged. Kisuke fell on his chair and looked at the table. This was _not _the time to have an inner crisis. But since when was horrid timing the world's concern? Back. He needed... Fuck. He needed too many things, all at once.

But first. Isshin. Ichigo. The table. He would look at the table. He would continue to look at the table for the longest of times, because there seemed to be no point in looking higher. He really, really didn't want to be here, to do this, to have caused any problem between father and son. And most of all, he knew where this was going, one way or another and while he'd have told Ichigo in time...

"Ichigo," Isshin said. "I used to be a shinigami myself."

If truth be told and madness pushed aside for just a bit longer, Kisuke was afraid. Not just of losing Ichigo, but of being despised by him. Everything had been going so well that his hopes had gotten up and now he had that much more to lose. He knew the other would deal with his father's disclosure, eventually, that he'd forgive Isshin, so he didn't worry about that. He could allow himself to be selfish and cringe at his own problems. The Kurosakis could solve their own.

"Why didn't you tell me all this before? Why did you let me believe that—that-"

Kisuke listened to Isshin explaining how Ichigo needed to find out things on his own, how he needed to know shinigami by having contact with them. His father was biased. His father's story was not happy. He did not wish to burden his son. He wanted him to make his own choices. To be happy. To see the world and understand it for what it actually was, not see it through Isshin's eyes. Ichigo didn't press the matter, didn't ask about his father's past, declaring that the other man would tell him in his own time. It might have been the guilt, or trying to set an accepting mood. Maybe he was genuinely understanding.

And as that was getting taken care of and things were moving more and more towards the matter at hand, the blond swallowed. Here it came, looming on the horizon, his own topic. His own past.

He felt cornered. The back of his mind demanded more and more attention, which it got denied. The scene before him was tensioned. He himself was tensioned. There was no relaxation anywhere, nowhere to take a break.

"I'm not going to say much about that … episode … upstairs," Isshin said. "I am realistic enough not to ever have thought of my children as remaining children forever. But I must say I can't agree with your relationship with Urahara."

Ichigo swallowed and searched for words. "He's actually a pretty good guy, you know?" It didn't seem he chose the perfect phrase there, but he got points for trying. Ichigo. Always trying. Yes. He'd insist. Try to defend him. "I mean, he-"

"I said you could do whatever you wanted," Isshin interrupted him, not unkindly. "But as your father, it is my duty to tell you exactly what sort of a man he is, so you know what you're getting into."

"Dad!" He had a 'don't go around trying to make him look bad' sort of tone in his voice.

"He's here so he can defend himself, if he wants to. If he _can_. But don't you dare lie to my son, Urahara, or I'll have your head for it."

"I wouldn't dare, Isshin-san." He was many things, but not the sort of man who lied for no other reason than to save his skin. Everything he'd done, even if he wished it not mentioned, he acknowledged. Cheating, tricks, lies, they were for greater things, for manipulating people for their own good when you were _certain_ they were for their own good. It was just too easy if you slipped once to slip forever from being manipulative, but overall fine, to being a liar digging his own grave and falling miserably into it.

"Now. Here's the deal. First of all, you should know I don't like the idea of two men going at each other. Just so we get it out of the way."

"It's none of your business what sex..."

"I know. Just saying. This isn't how I wanted your first relationship to go, Ichigo. I would have liked it if you'd found a good girl who liked you. I pictured you exploring the miracles of love together awkwardly, while hiding from me from pure teenage embarrassment. I pictured... Other things."

"I'd have liked that for him, too," Kisuke intervened, still looking at the intricacies of the table in front of him. He could feel Isshin's eyes boring into him anyway. "Fond, embarrassing memories. Your standard set."

"Kisuke..." Ichigo reach towards him, to make him look up, but the blond drew himself away. Not now. Touching was not a good idea right at the moment, surely the boy could see that?

"Yeah, well," continued Isshin, something in his voice saying he didn't want to come to the next point, "considering the situation in Seireitei, maybe it's for the best."

"You know about that?"

"Ichigo, the moment I realized you were being taken advantage of, I went to Urahara's place and nearly removed his head from his shoulders. That's when he kindly explained what was going on."

"Hey, wait a second! You _just said_ I was free to act however I wanted!" Ichigo's voice was getting higher now. It occurred to the shopkeeper that there are times when teenage complaints are more justified than people believe. Mind you, Ichigo didn't know exactly _how_ close his head had been to being removed, so... "You said you weren't going to be one of those dads who try to control their children's choices, that we were just to be careful and then the rest was up to us. I took your word for it!"

Isshin sighed. "I was_ protecting_ you. I didn't interfere in anything else you ever did, remember? I had a good reason for this. Let me tell you about it." There was a pause as Ichigo apparently nodded his assent, but Kisuke didn't see it as he still didn't stop staring at the table. "I know this man much better than you do. You _are_ aware he's in a relationship with Yoruichi and has been in it for a century, right?"

"Yeah, pretty much..."

"And did you know that she wasn't anywhere near his only lover for the time? That he ran about sleeping with everybody in sight? He's like Casanova. Or more like Prince Genji. From one bed to another, from one woman to another, sometimes to men, as you can see. He proposed it to _me_ a long time back – I refused, of course."

"What?"

It was the decent time to interfere, he supposed, since Ichigo seemed about to jump up from the table. "It's true," Kisuke said, still looking down and wondering idly how this was going to end. "But, well, Ichigo, you weren't even born, since it happened a very long time ago. In my defense, I was half drunk at the time. I didn't actually _mean_ it. It was a joke. More or less. At least, not as far as I remember... I might have been more than half drunk." Tag to Isshin, he wasn't saying anything else about _that_ subject.

"We were friends, of sorts, son. I never agreed with this... attitude... but somehow people always felt compelled to tell me about many of his conquests. I never understood why."

"You were so outraged, they couldn't resist," Kisuke said with a hint of a smile. If it was the moment of truth, then so be it.

"...Sometimes he told me about them himself."

"I couldn't resist, either."

"Sometimes common friends would come to praise him as a sex god." Kisuke did raise his eyes a little, because that was not the phrase he'd been expecting. He noticed from the corner of his eye that Ichigo turned as red as beet. Sex god? Seriously? He'd have suspected it to be another one of the theatrical exaggerations people used around Isshin, except Ichigo's expression said he concurred. Well, Kisuke himself concurred half the time, but to see it on somebody else's face was an entirely different thing. "Don't blush. I know. He can make you feel good." And now he was getting even redder. Kisuke blinked, but returned his eyes to the table, where they belonged. Interesting. Sex god. Somehow, in all the madness of the night and the previous days, some humor was finally starting to show up. He'd missed that. "I don't doubt that and I'm not such a prude as to ignore it. But there's one thing all his non-Yoruichi relationships have in common. They were affairs. No more. He'd have his fun, the other person would have their fun and then it would be over. He'd disappear in the mists."

"True enough," Kisuke admitted.

"He'd pick them up on the streets, randomly, smile at a pretty girl and take her home. Sleep with her, have his fun. Next day, she was merrily sent on her way. With men, you preferred bars, didn't you, Urahara? Streets were hard because the men were too sober to drop their prejudices, I think that was the reason you gave for it, but I never paid much attention at the time. Except Shunsui, whom you got during working hours and were proud of being his only man ever, isn't that right?" The last sentence was said with dripping irony and the shopkeeper paled slightly, feeling a knot in his throat. Guilty as charged. Kyoraku had been the only one drunk during working hours, so in a way it sort of figured, but _Christ_. He should never have told Isshin about that little episode. It would have been so much better for all the people involved had the great womanizer's name been kept out of the conversation. Then, the conversation moved back to Ichigo. "He seduces and abandons. Don't think it won't happen to you. Has he ever told you he loved you? Implied it in any way?"

"No, but..." Ichigo's voice was much less protesting than before, having turned soft somewhere during this conversation. It was probably Kisuke's lack of protests, of explanations, that made him waver from his anger at the beginning.

"There you have your answer. Don't get _hurt_, son, because he doesn't deserve your suffering."

"I resent that," the shopkeeper said, softly, finally raising his head to look at the older Kurosaki. "I'm not a machine. I don't automatically hurt people. I try to be careful. Always. And Ichigo is... He's different."

"Eh?" Isshin's head whipped about from watching his son. He glared at the blond, his own temper finally slipping. "Don't give me that stuff about "he's different", Urahara. Don't say shit just to make yourself look like a good guy."

"I'm not. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I don't know what it is. If it's love, or being in love or just affection intermingled with the desire. But it's different. He's not just another person." He felt his own fighting spirit rise. "And, on the other hand, nobody was ever just a notch on the bedpost... With the possible exception of Shunsui. Ichigo is even less of a _notch_ than you can imagine." He saw Isshin about to growl something in return. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. I don't know what it is, but it's _something_."

"How many, then?" the older two men turned to look at Ichigo, whose voice was a bit strained. "If you're this huge Don Juan, how many have there been?"

"I never counted," Urahara answered truthfully. "It was never about the number."

"Just give me an estimate."

"I don't know. It's been a long time. A thousand? Doing the maths, considering the average... Let's say two thousand. But seeing that I'm not exactly young, I've had a long time to gather up to that number... No, wait, there were the pause periods... A thousand would be more accurate, if... Well, I am quite old, so there was time."

But Ichigo was just staring at him, shock on his features.

"A thousand?"

"When I was in Soul Society, I got into a new affair quite often. It adds up, eventually. It might be less than that. It might be more. I never counted... Humble, perverted shopkeeper – isn't that what I described myself as when we met?" Still, the number was large when put like that. Except it wasn't. When you're 253 years old, that's about four people a year. Average. More in his young years, less during the beginning of his exile, when he hadn't seen anybody but Yoruichi for years... well, maybe a thousand and a half, considering everything again.

He really needed to check his old diaries and count sometime. He was curious now.

"But it was more than just lust, really," he continued. "I wanted them to be happy. To let go, be themselves. Relax. I wanted to offer them joy." He paused a second, then decided to continue. "Knowing what people want, what they desire and dream of. Feeling how to act, wanting to bring a smile to their faces. It was easy at times, so easy, so tempting. I don't know why others don't see it, that cute girl in the corner who is so sad and who can be made to smile so easily. Sometimes that was all. At other times, the rest happened naturally." It had been the sad outsider again and again that he'd fallen for. Maybe it was his weak point.

"That's what I meant," Isshin remarked with a hint of disgust. "He makes it sound good. He actually _believes _the things he says. You should know the facts before making the mistake of falling for this guy... He is, however, I suppose I have to admit, a good friend." The last said reluctantly. _Except when he's sleeping with your son_ floated unsaid in the air.

"I'm a good friend to people I _sleep with_, too, if they want my friendship. Those things are not mutually exclusive." The whole point of making somebody just a bit happier was not to ruin that happiness in the end.

"That's a lot of... Of affairs," Ichigo rasped, still focused on the number that had caught him in its thralls. And then, his voice became more hollow, as if a point had suddenly struck him: "Are you even going to remember me?"

"Of course!" Kisuke replied, defending himself for real and quite forcefully now. Fool of a boy. "I remember many less important people. And you're not exactly forgettable, you know. And you're _not_ just anybody. You might as well ask me whether I remember Yoruichi."

"Oh, so he's _special_," Isshin sneered. "Go ahead, make his head spin with romance. Isn't that what you generally say to people? That they're special?"

"Dammit, of course I do! Everybody's special! Everybody has something that makes them unique and beautiful – but right now I mean to say that _Ichigo_'s special _to me_. Do you understand that?" Kisuke knew he was losing it, but Ichigo was hurt right there, right then, because of a false belief that _needed _to be fought against _then_. "He means more _to me! _I'm not going to run off and abandon him, which you seem to believe that I usually do, nor will I push him gently in another direction, urging him to move on! I'm sticking with him as much as I can, even if I'm not yet _entirely_ certain why I feel whatever I feel. What more do you want from me? Do you want me to lie? Do you want me to claim love so you'd feel your son was safer? I won't lie, Isshin, not even for you, not even for him, not about this, not until I'm _certain. _No matter how much it costs me, I'll keep saying that! I don't know! I don't! But he is _Ichigo _and I _care _and I want him _safe _and I want him _with me _and I would do nothing to hurt him, but apparently I _have_." He stopped, breathing hard, finally realizing how much of a spectacle of himself he was making. He turned toward the red-haired young man, who was holding his head in his hands. "Ichigo, I... For what it's worth it, I am sorry. I'd have preferred to tell you about my past habits later, in another context." And in another context he'd have to tell him that his brain was announcing him that it was probably two thousand, all things considered. He needed to check those diaries.

"This is so fucked up."

Isshin continued to glare at Kisuke. Ichigo had now started staring at the table himself, thinking hard, breathing hard. He was an open book, as usual, and what could be read there said that he felt betrayed, that he felt himself a fool. Kisuke wondered what went on through the boy's mind and heart, whether there were incipient feelings there that were getting stomped on because of this revelation.

"Do whatever you want, son. But you needed to know."

Ichigo looked at his father, accusingly. "As if you're the one to speak. You never told me anything!" This wasn't him, the blond thought. Not like him at all. Betrayal, embarrassment? Was he... Had he been falling for Kisuke? Possibly. Falling for the man who blackmailed him, had him and now thinking himself a mighty fool for doing so.

Isshin took the outburst to mean that he had not disclosed anything about shinigami, apparently. Kisuke wondered whether he hadn't meant not being warned about the insidiousness of seducers. "Hey, I did my best. I left you with competent people. I asked them to take care of you. I was careful to make sure things were the best they could be for you. You always knew what you were getting into, didn't you? Well, you should know now, too. Even if you're going to go back to Urahara. And if you ever want to talk about anything whatsoever, you can come to me. I _mean _it."

"Whatever. You know what? I want a day without secrets and plots and whatever. I'm off for a walk. I need to think."

And saying that, Ichigo got up and left without another word. As simple as that, he walked out on both of them without batting an eyelash, exited through the door and didn't turn back for a simple goodbye. Kisuke's eyes turned towards the young man's father. This thew them into entirely new waters and for some reason he felt like reviewing kidoh in his head.

"We seem to be alone now," he said and winced internally at his own statement of the obvious. "...I think we _both_ betrayed him. In some way or another."

Isshin leaned back against his chair. So, the battle would continue to be verbal. Good. He didn't want them to settle this with brute force. "Possibly. But right now, Urahara, it's _you _who hurt him with your petty games."

"I wouldn't have been playing any games were it not for Soul Society. Besides, I tried to make it _alright_. I see no reason to hurt him physically and psychically for his own good. Whatever you may think, I don't want him to suffer. I'm not into torturing people – you should know that. How many have complained about me, really? How many would have taken back their time with me?" Isshin narrowed his eyes back at him, but didn't say much. "It wasn't that many and we both know it. Most of the stuff you heard were jokes. Nothing but teasing emphasizing my scandalous behavior because you were _that much fun _to tell these things to."

There was a pause in which neither said anything, Isshin just glaring and Urahara trying to decide what position he was supposed to take. The latter was also trying to figure out what old friends became when they were wary of the other, when their friendship was just beginning to give way to enmity. Isshin suddenly gave a long sigh of pure tiredness, all fighting going out of him—Kisuke found it slightly ironic, since if there was anybody around here who had to win the first prize for "busy period", that had to be himself. And here was Isshin, _tired_.

"I hate you," Isshin told him, his voice holding no malice this time.

"Yeah," the shopkeeper replied, bitterly. "I think I hate me, too."

"You took advantage of his situation and your own position to do this. Don't lie to me. I've seen the two of you. You like it a bit _too_ much for you to be a simple _benefactor_."

Were they seriously going to discuss Ichigo's and his sex life now? "It's complicated. Actually, I wouldn't have acted but for Soul Society's utter idiocy, but I care for him. It's the truth."

Isshin snorted, rocking a bit on the kitchen chair, his eyes on the ceiling again. "Don't bullshit me, of all people. I know you too well to believe in your honest, good intentions. And I don't care whom else you manage to convince."

Kisuke felt himself freezing against his will as he realized that his, for once, _very frank_ admission was not believed, nor accepted, but scorned. And that realization made a spark ignite in his mind, offering him a glimpse of the future. Isshin didn't believe him—why would _anybody_ else? As the sort of man who generally didn't offer his motives on a silver platter, as the kind of man who was anything _but_ straightforward, what chance did he have to get himself actually understood? He'd always assumed before that he could tell the people that really mattered what was going on and they would at least _try_ to understand.

"I really _do..._." he started again.

"Shut it. All I'm asking is that you don't hurt him."

Would it have been any different if he had kept in touch more? If he'd explained himself instead of just the situation? If he hadn't believed that friendships go on unchanged no matter how time passed? And then, unbidden, all his frustration and maliciousness sprung up and the irrational part of him decided that Isshin needed to be bashed.

"No worries," Kisuke said, in a light sing-song voice. "Nothing to gain from hurting Ichigo. On the contrary." Isshin gave him a _look _of pure despise and Kisuke smiled in return. They waited like that, studying each other, fighting more now than they had before, silently, subtly, unmovingly. Finally, Isshin seemed to calculate his cynical statement and decide that it held true.

This face was the one that the other man could trust, apparently. Not the unusual, open, sincere face, but the trickster, the man who twirls the strings in his hand, who really wouldn't hurt another person because it wouldn't be rewarding. Well, he'd set himself up for that, he assumed, but still...

"Sometimes I think you're just an emotionless bastard who's just that good at acting, Kisuke. You fool us all, don't you?"

"I think your mind's already made up on that one, _father-san_." The sing-song voice, he used it almost as a parody of himself. He couldn't help but taunt him through it.

"Get the hell out of my house. I hope Ichigo will have better sense than trust you, like I did."

"Oh, listen to me, Isshin!" Kisuke's voice went dark, almost towards growls. "I can't believe you think so _low_ of me to want to be reassured by something as stupid as that. During all the time we were friends, did I ever act like that? I am quite aware that I am manipulative, that I lie and I cheat, but have I _ever_ been a bastard of the sort you now believe me to be? I think you'll find I haven't. I think you haven't even managed to think of ex-lovers who are upset with me, and shouldn't there be a lot of those, according to your calculations? Well, there are some, indeed, as I can see you want to tell me, even if you don't know them. But relatively few. Isshin! Isshin, we were _friends_. I expected more faith than that."

"I think I abandoned faith when you _started sleeping with my son_."

"So what if I am doing that? _Somebody _eventually has to! Getting laid isn't the worst thing that could happen to a boy."

"He's 16!"

"Good age!"

"No. The age of consent is 18-"

"The Constitution says _13_, Isshin."

"_This_ prefecture says 18. I could throw you to the police."

Urahara sighed and put his head on his hands. "This is getting ridiculous. They can't even arrest a spirit. Hell, they can't even _see _me. Will you stop this nonsense? I am _not _hurting your son! I am _careful._ I am a _responsible individual_. You should know this."

"This conversation is _over_, Urahara. You are no longer welcomed in this house. Do not presume to pass by."

"Don't be silly! How much do I have to explain it so you'd _finally _understand the point? I am not _harming_ Ichigo!"

"OUT!"

Urahara got up slowly. "Fine." He started walking away, but then stopped. "If you want to presume to pass by the shop, go ahead."

Isshin didn't answer, so he found his own way out. He blinked under the night sky, considered for a few seconds, then looked up at the roofs and the stars. He felt no trace of Ichigo and no desire to return home. It smelled of night and warm air and a long day passed, as well as of defeat and madness, the latter two being his own. He needed time. He needed a rest, he needed to get himself settled. To scream and rage and rearrange. His home was much too full of people, his basement, if large, was much too familiar and there wasn't enough privacy there. Returning was out of the question.

Instead, he oriented his attention towards his reiatsu and physical condition. He was fine. Also, this was Japan, wonderful Japan in which 67% of the land was covered by forests, 73% by mountains. Truly, to be alone in a wood was far from difficult. All you needed to do was run, run faster than any normal man, with unbelievable resistance. That is where Yoruichi's training came in.

So Kisuke shunpo-ed. One flash step, then another and another, and another until he lost count and track of time and he didn't stop even when he reached the first traces of forest, but kept going on and on, searching for the paths going up, climbing, flashing past this and that without stopping to see what he was passing by.

He finally settled for a place that looked no different than any other place and sat down.

Time. Time was not only something that he did not have. Time was something that passed, 24 hours a day, 60 minutes an hour, 60 seconds per minute. A second was the time it took to blink a long blink, to calm down, to draw air in fast, a longer time than the one between two heart beats. You could change your mind in a second. You could have a revelation in a second. You could enter a second and expand it, be in it so much that you actually allowed it to give you your revelation. Your time. That there was no time was an illusion. All you needed to do was take every second and add it up to every other one. 60 revelations per minute. 60 minutes per hour. 24 hours a day. There was time. You just had to take it slowly. You had to cut down on all the wasted, forgotten halfs and thirds of seconds.

So he allowed himself time to breathe, slowly, in and out. He could solve all this in less than five minutes. 300 seconds. If he needed more time after that, he would get more. But now, this is what he worked with. No waste.

He brought his entire body to a still as he sat. First. The rape. Good. He had the subject. He had the problem. He feared it, in memory as well as in fact. He feared the past and he feared using it. He was afraid of it happening all over again. _Fear_. Fear could be faced.

Rage. He was enraged that it had happened to him, he wanted to destroy and to fight and to bring down. Well, he'd just have to harness that rage, didn't he? Benihime nodded at him from inside his mind. That was what zanpakuto were best at, he supposed. Support. Much, much support.

Shame. He was ashamed. Surprisingly, this was his greatest problem, now that he considered it. It made him hide more than his fear, it made him want to lash out with less control than his rage. And, to tell the truth, he knew he didn't have much to be ashamed of. It wasn't his fault – and if there was a great pervert involved in all that, it was Aaoyama. Sick bastard. Yet it was still Kisuke who felt dirty and tainted, who felt that he had a secret to hide. And, aside from Yoruichi, there was nobody else who knew the extent of the Kuchiki black sheep's madness. Which brought him to an interesting point – he had lied to her when he'd told her he wasn't touching her because of Ichigo, lying and not knowing it. He didn't want her near in fact, now that he stopped to think about it, because she _knew_. Because he felt exposed, even if he had never felt that way before with her. For the first time in his entire life, he wanted to push somebody away because they knew too much, because Yoruichi _knew_ how he had been treated and what he'd had to go through.

No, it wasn't fear that hurt him, it wasn't rage, but shame.

In fact, this shame had been with him since before even Aaoyama, since he'd wanted to blackmail Ichigo, since before that. Shame was an integral part of his character, apparently, one that had needed shock and disgust to come out. Kisuke felt _dirty_. And that, eventually, was all that it came down to.

He was alone in the forest, but he still felt exposed. He wanted to say things out loud, yet the irrational part of him feared that somebody would hear and _know_.

"I was raped," he said, mouth dry, almost in a whisper. It was a start. Admission. But not much of it. "He... made me..." Yourichi's face flashed in front of his eyes and he glared. He wanted nobody to know, not even her. Why had he let _her_ know?... There it was, again. The shame. But the talking out loud wasn't working. "So," he said, in his much more characteristic tone of voice, which didn't involve a straightforward confession. "I suppose the Aaoyama brat is mentally and sexually deviant, some of his concerns involving coprophilia, blood play and what the fuck do you call that thing when they keep shoving objects into you to see if they fit, children don't look this stuff up because it will give you nightmares." By the end of that, he was hissing between his teeth and clenching his fists so hard that he could feel his nails going through his skin. "This isn't making me feel any better," he added. He got up, grabbed the tree behind him and started squeezing it more and more, using his reiatsu, until it broke in two. It didn't come down, its branches catching in other trees' branches, so he forcefully pulled it to the ground, hearing wood cracking where it caught. He then proceeded to break it all into pieces, starting with the big branches, continuing with the smaller ones, pulled its bark off and continued in the same frightfully organized destruction sort of way that was much more frightening to watch than uncontrolled chaos. This was study of revenge, immortal hate, shame transmuted itself into more anger as Kisuke decided to stop hiding and start striking. He didn't _need_ to destroy anything, he just needed to have something to do with his hands while he thought, something that required a lot of brute force.

By the time he finished with the tree, it was in splinters, brought that way through methodical, mathematically calculated breaking that ensured all the resulting pieces were the same size.

_That_ was Kisuke in action.

He picked up his hat, that had fallen of his head at some time, and placed it back. He wasn't anywhere near fine and this had taken 25 minutes, not 5, but it was still within schedule.

Here is what 25 minutes, aka 1500 seconds, can bring about: a much more firm Urahara Kisuke. One who has decided that he is _angry_. And that he will stop running, stop staring at tables and start admitting to his own person again. He was going to drop shame and choose anger as a driving force. It wasn't a very good thing and it could result in people getting hurt, but as long as he held it in check and replaced it with something better afterwards, it was going to work out.

It doesn't entirely work quite that way, of course. You don't get better overnight. He knew that. The shame was still there, as was the fear, as was everything. But he had Decided and it was about time he had, really. Move from shame to anger. Not a big leap, but big enough to change many things and to let him escape Aaoyama's shadow. He'd wanted to do this before, but it had been too early, shame had gotten him. But now he would impose anger again. And after anger... He didn't know that part yet. Madness, perhaps?

He held Benihime in his hand, considering her. He'd used to have talks with her every once in awhile, but had dropped that habit lately. Foolish him. "Let's go," he whispered to her as he started his way back, in the same manner, with the same speed as before. His 'crimson princess' was, like all other zanpakuto, a statement of his own self, a part of him, a reflection of him. A beautiful-looking thing stained with blood, a deadly irony, just like the Kurosakis had their straightforward swords, just like Mayuri had a soulless looking freak, just like Abarai Renji's brutal force.

He needed to keep himself in mind, not fold, not give in. It was in his nature to be hard and ironic and shameless. He had been that way for more than 200 years and no freak traumatic episodes were going to change him. Well, he was also vulnerable, if he were to be honest with himself, and he worried, and failed. But overall...

Overall...

Overall, enough. No more words were required, no more actions. Concentrate, fight, fill every second with something relevant. _Be_. His own adapted version of Zen.

As he got closer to the shop, he leaped from building to building more and more quietly, feeling the air rush by and keeping an eye out for Hollows. There were none out that night.

He landed in front of his home, straightened his back and walked through the front door. Inside, all the lights were turned on, even though there was nobody in the shop. As he entered the inner part of the house and stopped concealing his reiatsu, Yoruichi literally jumped out of the nearest room, the almost official meeting room, and landed three feet in front of him.

"Where. Have. You. Been?" She was more than just upset, she was almost a mirror of his own inner self in the rage aspect. Behind her, the blue-haired Arrancar popped his head out of the room, seeming to wonder where his place was. Kisuke _almost _fell back towards shame, before raising an eyebrow at the man and getting him to retreat to the room.

"Out?" he said. "Why, is there an emergency?"

"They've returned an hour ago! They say they've stolen the King's Key! The Central have sent a Hell Butterfly demanding to see you in two days' time!" Kisuke wondered idly who _they _were, then decided it wasn't all that relevant. "Aizen is going to attack the Spirit King, the only problem being _when_, Shichi sent all her people back to headquarters to help with the war effort _there_, apparently the Spirit King's _heir_ and _brother_, who for some reason are the same person, is missing, Ichigo isn't to be found and he left with _you_!"

Kisuke breathed deeply in and out, closed his eyes, then took the fan out of his sleeve, grinned, opened it and placed it in front of his face.

"My, my," he said. "And how much more mayhem are _we _going to add to that?"

She stared at him, about to berate him, then read him as well as she usually did and grinned. "You're feeling better."

"Possibly. I had a fight with Isshin, destroyed a tree and talked to myself. I have discovered I am angry and not entirely certain of the existence of my sanity."

"I'm not sure either."

"I try to make sure it goes away, I promise."

"Good."

He skipped to her, placed his arm around her shoulders, feeling almost happy, then turned as he heard the door behind him open.

"Ichigo! How nice of you to join us! Come in, come in. The world's falling apart, let's have a strategy party."

And, with a grin and a wave of the fan, he walked inside the meeting room, holding as tight as he could to that hard part inside of him that refused shame with all its might.

/

**AN**: As I've said, things don't work as well as that, psychologically speaking. So... Poor Kisuke. Still, I have fun writing him. And I'll try updating sooner. So sorry about the delay and the mix-up and everything and I am horrible and this shall never, ever happen again, I promise *cringes*

Don't forget to review, flames totally accepted.


	13. Interlude: Shichi in Rukongai

**Disclaimer: **Bleach isn't mine. If it were, Aizen would have stayed handsome.

**AN: **I have lost hope in fast updates. It's not gonna happen. I'm sorry. It's just that this story is getting more and more difficult to write – it must be all the plotting going on. And the fact that I was busy, sick, or both.

This also isn't the real chapter, but an interlude which I really felt like writing to give myself a breather. I keep fumbling at the actual chapter, but... yeah. Not sure how to make it work.

Reviews make me happy, by the way, so if you feel like reviewing, do it.

**Interlude: Shichi in Rukongai**

Shichi rose her hand and, with two fingers, pulled her hood over her head in what she considered to be a semi-elegant gesture. Acting was in her blood. Had she been born as a man and stayed alive, she would have made a hell of an actor before dying (women didn't act that long ago). Alas, dying young and as a woman had ensured that she would never get to show off quite as she wanted to. No matter, she would take some time off at a certain point, and a gigai, and go straight for Broadway. Not Hollywood, since film required subtlety, while theatre required expressiveness and energy, of which she had enough, thank Fate.

She adopted a casual stroll and relaxed posture that made her blend in with the background of the more elegant districts of Rukongai. When she got to the slums, she would look suitably strong and suspicious to _not _look suspicious, but for now she could take it easy. She reigned in her reiatsu and her presence and attempted to make every glance disinterested, every gesture purposeless. She did not believe anybody would recognize her as a shinigami, never mind as a strong one, never mind as herself, which suited her perfectly.

She wore earphones attached to some mp3 player of a nameless brand that she had thrown at Kisuke awhile ago and told to make function for spirit beings, too. She had a feeling that he had replaced the actual things inside with something that wasn't a nameless brand just so it wouldn't give up on her and he wouldn't have to deal with her demands again soon, which suited her fine. Especially since the thing she'd bought had had 8GBs of memory and the thing she got back had 160GB, which covered all her needs perfectly, although it had taken a day and a night to get all her music on it. It might have also been friendship on his side, she supposed – which did him honour, since she was aware she wasn't friend material.

She looked around at everybody moving, jostling all over the place, children screaming in either delight or demand, hurried people, strolling people, nice places, ugly places, the occasional plant – and set her music for Ennio Morricone's "Man with a Harmonica", also known as The Strange Western Soundtrack from "Once Upon a Time in the West", Which Was Also Paid Tribute to In "Pirates of The Caribbean". She felt as if she were in a Western, why not have a soundtrack for it? Sure, it would have been more suited for the 85th or so district, but you can't have everything in life.

They say that strong, boisterous people are actually weak on the inside, trying to seem stronger by pushing themselves into the very situations they would avoid, trying to bluff over their weaknesses. She was not that. She was, instead, rock hard, harder than she appeared, more calculated than they gave her credit for even when they saw her in the moments her mask slipped. Insane, hard as a sword piercing your vertebrae, lacking delicate feelings. She was a fighter, a warrior of the hard path - _"My possessions are a tool, my skills are a tool, my body is a tool, my self is a tool, all for achieving my goal_." As all of the good ones knew, from Yamamoto, to Shunsui, to Ukitake, to Kisuke, to Yoruichi, even to that young Ichigo. Ichimaru Gin was amazing. It all depends on how much you're willing to give of yourself, in the end. The really good ones, they could give more than they had, they transformed merely so they could be better tools. Oh, Kurosaki boy, you know it. The struggle is unending, once you start, there's always something to fight for and shinigami hardly if ever die of old age – you won't stop until your body falls to pieces, your soul is in tatters, your life is gone and you aren't able to piece yourself together again no matter what superhuman effort you try to go through again.

Shichi was... not perfect. There were things she couldn't do, places she couldn't penetrate because something in her wouldn't allow her to go there. Her bankai withdrawal syndrome was due to that reluctance to scout into unknown waters, but, to hell with everything, she didn't use her bankai all that often, so meh.

It wasn't that she was afraid, really. She remembered reading Harry Potter and wondering why the universe of that book had both Boggarts and Dementors. And she thought that she would laugh in the face of both with equal sarcasm. That would be her – howling madly in front of whatever it might be that she feared most, even if at the moment she didn't know what that would be. Her bankai form, perhaps? Even the thought made her want to laugh. No, she was _reluctant _about it, which was an entirely different thing. If she had to choose a thing which would put a dampener on her spirit, then it'd have to be something much more impressive, more sordid, more...

And then she felt dampened. Yeah. The reason why she was here. Although it didn't exactly _scare_ her.

Starrk was dead. That meant that he was supposed to be here somewhere, in Rukongai, unless he had been reincarnated as a Seireitei noble – but she doubted that. She'd have heard of nobility being born. Perhaps she should have checked the maternity ward anyway, in case he got non-noble parents, but then, it was Starrk and Starrk was...

Starrk was dead. She supposed she was happy she hadn't been there to have to strike him down herself. It was one of the small mercies of life and good timing. She definitely could imagine herself killing him, which was one of the reasons why this was such a mercy.

Starrk was dead. After thousands of years of existence, of watching him grow from normal hollow to Gillian to Adjuchas to Vasto Lorde, he had been killed and cleansed because she hadn't had the guts to do it herself from the start. Because she needed to be _ordered_ to do such a thing to not put her sword down, every time.

She'd seen him split in two - when he had _become _Starrk and Lilinette. The sight had made her shiver. Lilinette had been such a kid. But then, it _would_ be like that. A kid with a horrid temper, a kid who was a weapon, a murderous weapon, who was wolves. Memories from past lives carried on in mysterious ways, she supposed. They come as ideas out of nowhere. What makes its mark on us leaves us with difficulty.

Maybe that was why she had not killed him – in the fear that to kill him would destroy those memory imprints. That he would lose even more of himself through another death.

Humans that were eaten by Hollows were not wiped from existence, incidentally. They were just put on 'pause', 'sleeping' until a further date when they would be freed. They were dragged after the Hollow, their power adding to that of their eater. She knew this, because her brother had been eaten by a Hollow when they were both killed as children. She had escaped. She had become Shinigami. He had become part of a Gillian and then taken over as Adjuchas. He had become two – to compensate for his little sister, she presumed. For herself. And Lilinette had been much like a younger Shichi in spirit, even if not in body. _Lilinette_. The name sort of reminded her of her real name, the one she had died with – but not phonologically. The shape had gotten muddled, just like the memory of his sister itself, but the _idea_ had remained.

Now he had been purified, so she assumed he was somewhere in Rukongai – whether as a child, as when he had been eaten, or as an adult, as he had become, she did not know. But she would find him and watch over him, make sure he entered the Academy and grew up to be a captain – he definitely had potential for that, unless his laziness was allowed to reach astonishing limits in this new existence, too. It was as if all that was active had transferred over to Shichi and left him lazy, while also allowing him to partake in his sister's hard work for _little to no reason_. It wasn't as if he trained, the bum.

She looked at all the people who went by her, a flicker of unease demanding to know whether she was sure she would recognize him. She quenched it. She had been able to tell for certain that the Adjuchas was him before she'd seen Lilinette, wasn't that right? She had had an inkling from the very beginning and it had proved to be right. It would be right again.

She wished she too was split in two so she could talk to herself, unease the loneliness. She wanted a tailored friend – one who acted just like Starrk. Sure, the bloody Captain of the Zeroes was her friend, the annoying pixie, but she wasn't exactly in tune with all of Shichi's ideas. She wasn't able to just shut up and listen to everything. Shichi wanted somebody like that. Somebody she could confess everything to, tell them about her passions and desires – about the blood and the sex and the 'extracurricular' trips to Hueco Mundo and about the bitchiness of her bankai. Somebody who would learn linguistics because _she_ liked it. She'd have such a laugh with Starrk – well, she'd laugh and he'd make some half-assed comment. She'd tell him about the Captain she was doing at the time and how nobody thought that that person was approachable, but Shichi knew better, because she could smell sexual frustration and an impossible love from a mile away and knew how to take advantage of those (she briefly wondered what Yoruichi would do if she realized Shichi was mercilessly shagging her Seireitei favourite – had Shichi left enough clues? She was sure she had. Now all the cat woman had to do was figure it out and possibly go berserk. That would be fun.). And she'd also tell Starrk about the other person she was making a pass at and admit her own insanity in thinking she could keep it hidden from a Captain who knew too much as it were, and who upheld law and order – but let there be fun and chaos! Screw Urahara Kisuke and his scolding looks towards her. If _he_ wanted to be a romantic Casanova, well, that was his problem. She had no qualms. She wasn't _killing _them, after all. Just seducing. Surely it wasn't a crime? Hell, she might even be doing them a favor when she seduced them. If they didn't want to be seduced, they could just refuse.

She felt reiatsu and turned to see a small man, with large, frightened eyes and timidity radiating off of him in waves.

"Shichi-sama!" he said and bowed, nearly falling over his own feet in his haste to speak to her.

She stood there, rooted to the spot. Well, she hadn't hidden _entirely, _but still, this was quite...

"You said you wanted to speak with me," he said. "I'm Yamada Hanatarou, Seventh Seat of the Fourth Division."

Shichi stared at him, her jaw losing its hold and letting itself fall slightly, her mouth opening almost imperceptibly before colour came back to her face and her eyes channelled a thunderstorm. "You _fucking bastard_!" she cried, outraged. "You annoying, dimwitted, little scoundrel of an assassin pup, you traitor, backstabber sparrowhawk that I could cage in something really tiny, you, _you_, _YOU_, how could you do this to me?"

He smiled timidly, took a step back and rubbed the back of his head shyly. "I'm sorry, Shichi-sama, I couldn't resist."

"Is this your way of courting me, _Yamada_? The seventh of the fourth? _You_! You did this on purpose!"[1]

"Of course, Shichi-sama," he smiled.

"Shi-dono," she said, rubbing at her forehead. "Isn't it enough that you've got the 4th seat in our very own Division?"

She studied him from head to toe and had to admit that he'd been quite brilliant in his disguise. He was generally renowned for the amazing way in which he could act among the Zeroes, but it never failed to surprise her. You wouldn't say that he had taken on all the hoards of Genghis Khan all by himself when they'd wanted to hurt some human friends of his in some remote village on their path to glory and scared them shitless before erasing their memories and leaving them only with the Very Clear Idea that they should ignore some people and their lands smack in the middle of their great empire. He was as good as Sherlock Holmes, as the Count of Monte Cristo, Arsene Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Moist von Lipwig – any master of disguise out there. He could change his entire personality so completely that his body tended to follow. Hell, he'd even convinced a lot of British soldiers that he was Napoleon and had left people with the impression that the emperor was short, a legend which would continue on for hundreds of years into this very day (even though the actual emperor had been one head taller, average height).

"I wanted to speak with you because I have a Plan," Shichi said. "And I need your support."

"Oh," Hanatarou said, looking very nervous and helpless. "I really hope it's something I can do..."

"Aah, well, you see, you can do it. And it will be _fun_."

The problem with the man's disguise, she figured, was that she couldn't tell whether the distinct nervousness on his face was part of the act or real. Eh. Well. He'd help anyway. She was sure of it.

* * *

Footnotes!

**1 **Shichi's name means 7, but 'shi' can also be translated as 'death' – which is why Japanese usually use 'nana' to say 7. Incidentally, 'shi' also means 4 – which is why Japanese usually use 'yon' to say 4. Needless to say, for word-crazy Shichi, the combo of 4 and 7 is a treat which she can't have. Also, if you wanted to say 7's 4 in Japanese, you _could_ say 'shichi no shi', which can also be Shichi's 4, or Shichi's Shi, hence her idea that Hanatarou is courting her by declaring himself hers. It's a joke. I doubt she believes it, but who knows.

**AN: **You can find me on deviantart, under the nickname of theothersarshi. Why the other Sarshi? Long story. Contains mothers.

**Don't forget to review! It makes me happy ^^**


	14. In Which the Focus is on Ichigo for Once

**Disclaimer**_: _Still trying to blackmail Tite Kubo into hading it over to me, but it appears that the sex scandal was somebody else's. Dammit. I'll find another blackmail item, ok?

**AN: **Hello, dear ones! Finally, an (actual) update! You have to thank my completely airheaded blunder for this, because if I hadn't thrown _all_ of my underwear and socks (regardless of cleanliness) into the washing machine on one faithful night, I would have been able to go out on the next day instead of spending a very long time in my pajama and an even longer one in my bathrobe, mostly in bed, typing.

The good news is that you have a new chapter, I have less guilt and an entire section of my clothes is entirely clean.

Anyway, my Master's starts on Monday, which might mean there will be a change in the update schedule. Because I know myself, I wager that updates will be more frequent – after all, my yaoi-loving colleague will be in the very same Master's as myself, asking about this fic every other day. It does wonders. Being busy also increases the desire to do things one shouldn't be doing at the moment.

**Chapter 13: In Which the Focus Is On Ichigo for Once**

_(continuation of the title: And He's Not Half-Bad When It Comes To Noticing Things, Either)_

There were many things which refused to add up.

Ichigo sat on a bench in the park, looking at people walk by, little children jumping around and playing, mothers chatting cheerfully in the warm afternoon. He realized on a certain level that all of the people before him could have been dead at the hands of Aizen, but he refused to think that idea through. It hadn't happened, so why should he? As long as Soul Society, the Vizard and those in between were on watch, it never would.

Which didn't mean that his own life couldn't plunge straight into an awkward hell in which nothing added up, nothing was logical and everything was an unknown variable, unless he was missing all sorts of pieces of the puzzle – which he probably was, now that he thought about it.

He found it disconcerting that the one crazy thing that _did _make sense was Shichi. Or, more precisely, her vanishing at a crucial time because she wanted to make a mind-blowing entrance later. It was in character, it was logical. Sure, she wasn't the epitome of sanity and she was quite eccentric, but hell, who wasn't by this time? Why did everybody else seemed to think that _Shichi_ was the root of all weirdness? Everybody was! Shichi was the tiny chocolate sundae that was on the house because you'd bought enough food to feed three families and their cousins, a small addition to the big thing you were getting anyhow and which only looked impressive because you weren't keeping your mind on the bigger picture. Insisting that _she_ was the weirdest thing around had its own place on to the Column of Insanity.

...Unless, of course, people _said_ she was very strange because they couldn't express themselves on the really strange stuff and therefore expressed the strangeness by using the default strange thing available.

...Sheesh. He was getting complicated. Kisuke was probably rubbing off on him. Ichigo didn't know how to feel about that – so what else was new?

He leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes. It could have been a massacre.

He wondered how it went during the Second World War. There were only that many shinigami, after all, and so many dying at the same time... Hollow feast. How did they organize, how fast did they get there, the shinigami? Were there some who slew hollows keeping watch for the purifiers?... Probably. Was that how Aizen had come up with the idea of destroying Karakura for his own purposes? Or was that how Seireitei obtained its own key? He wouldn't put it past them.

He had assumed that he'd understood the ways in which Seireitei thought. Self-defensive, bureaucratic, paranoid. But maybe he had been wrong. They had shown themselves to be stupid as far as it concerned himself. Nobody had told him he was a shinigami's son. Sure, his dad had had his reasons not to say anything. Rukia probably didn't know, so she couldn't have toldhim. Quite possibly, Renji didn't know either. But shouldn't _somebody_ in Seireitei have known about it? Ichigo knew he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but others were and looking back on everything that had happened... Well... how come nobody had researched Ichigo? Was it normal for teens to become substitute shinigami and achieve bankai? Hadn't they considered checking for oddities in his background? Shouldn't they have investigated him? Shouldn't they have said something about the results of the investigation, in case there had been one? They had killed Quincy, destroyed mod souls and so on – so shouldn't _somebody_ have known _something_? And those who knew, shouldn't they have said anything? Had they just ignored the entire issue?

There was also Kisuke. The blond should have told him, because you generally told the people you slept with about stuff like their heritage. But then again, Kisuke wasn't the epitome of honest reveals and Ichigo wasn't sure how close they really were. Maybe it was something that hadn't come up because there hadn't been much time for chatting. And he could hardly reproach a man who'd been hurt so much for him. But...

Sometimes, he felt lost. He'd imagined people more... straightforward. Apparently, that wasn't the case. Why couldn't at least those who were close to him say whatever the hell they thought? He was alone and left out, and if they liked him, that didn't mean they weren't doing all sorts of things behind his back. There were days when he felt that everybody had a hidden scheme, but himself.

Kisuke alone was an enigma iced with mystery. Ichigo was damned if he understood what was going on between the man and Yoruichi. Or between him and Ichigo, for that matter. They hadn't spoken about things all that much since his dad's reveal. There had been a few kisses here and there, but things had gone cold and awkward between them. They needed to talk – just the two of them. However, Kisuke had been busy studying ancient tomes and planning and making gigai and talking to some people whom Ichigo didn't know about support in the trial and there had been no time for the two of them. And, if relationships of all sorts were to be discussed, Ichigo didn't know how things stood between himself and Yoruichi. She seemed to approve of him, but she hadn't had much time to talk either. She'd worked side by side with Kisuke, ordered people around the shop and gave supporting speeches to the shopkeeper when the man looked about to collapse psychically. Ichigo might have considered feeling jealous or at least left out in an amorous way, but – there were a lot of buts tonight in his mental thoughts, he noticed – things had been very busy for everybody. No, he didn't feel jealous, he felt envious. Yoruichi and Kisuke had something. She knew the blond well enough to figure out when he needed to be kicked to eat or kicked into unconsciousness to get some rest. They were a team. He couldn't reproach them for-

Fuck, but there were a lot of things he couldn't reproach. Maybe he _did_ want to make a fuss, throw an accusation or two. But – here came the _but_ again – it would feel very selfish to do so. There was a war, there was an oncoming trial, there had been a rape.

So he settled for confusion, melancholy and longing. Mix them together, stir, and see what repressed wish came up for air.

Ichigo wanted to be like Yoruichi and Kisuke, too, to know somebody so well that he'd know what they needed and when they needed it. To chat easily while working his ass off. To be attentive and tender without really doing anything – something both Kisuke and Yoruichi managed easily. And even though the young man was one hell of a fighter and he had achieved bankai and had kicked Espada ass, right now he was brought back to earth with a strong feeling of lack of experience. When it came to romantic relationships, Ichigo _sucked. _Even if Kisuke was paying as much attention to him as he had to spare, smiling, exchanging a few words now and then, being nice and warm and giving off the feeling that he'd love the two of them to have the time and place to actually talk, it was Yoruichi whom the shopkeeper relied on naturally, as if she were an extra limb, or rather an extra body, a trusted person who took care of everything she needed to take care of without needing to be told what to do.

It was envy. There was _nothing_ he could do to help because he didn't know how to do it. So he couldn't help but remember what his dad had told him – Yoruichi and Kisuke were an item and Kisuke wasn't really going to be the same way with anybody else, no matter what he started with them.

Ichigo _felt_ overall alright, if Yoruichi wasn't around to make him feel small and inexperienced, but he supposed a sexual predator of the scale his dad had made him out to be _would _make one feel that way. However, this was one area in which the young man was content to let things be. If it worked out, then it worked out. If Kisuke _was _using him, then he was and he did it with style. Besides, he was saving Ichigo's life and had gotten very hurt because of it. If he wanted to use Ichigo, then he would. That had been the deal, sort of, hadn't it? Except with Orihime's safety at stake, not Ichigo's.

But how long would the deal go on? He had immunity as long as he was Kisuke's lover. Did this mean they'd always have to sleep together, lest Ichigo be in danger? Even though he was fighting _with _Seireitei and not against it? (in a moment of desperation for some change, he'd asked who was doing what for the war now that Aizen was gone and found that the Divisions really were actively searching for methods to bring the man down, unlike their own Karakura team which seemed to be concerned with other matters. His help was not needed and refused.)

And he still didn't really understand the whole trial business and who was accusing whom of what. He felt awkward and lost, so he'd just let Kisuke lead. Still, Ichigo felt that a bit more info wouldn't kill him.

And then there was Rukia. But he wouldn't – he couldn't - think about Rukia yet.

He glanced around, distracting himself from uncomfortable thoughts and remained wide-eyed and open-mouthed when he saw Grimmjow approaching in a gigai.

"Yo," the Espada said.

"Wha-?"

"We're allowed to walk around, apparently." The blue haired man shrugged. "Damned good. I was getting stir crazy in that room with the wailing brat."

Ichigo stared at Grimmjow. Well. Hell. Now that he thought about it, not _everybody_ would be plotting. Not everybody was going weird and complicated and secretive, not everybody was making feel Ichigo feel socially inadequate, because if there was one person who was more out of his depth socially in any situation than himself, that would be Grimmjow. Without realizing it, he started smiling, his chronic frown disappearing as if by miracle. Today, on this fucked up day of his life, he really appreciated Grimmjow's existence.

The Espada didn't appreciate the sentiment.

"What the fuck are you grinning at me about?" he growled, looking paranoid. "You'd better not have any weird plans, you hear? I'm sick of that! Sick of the damned shopkeeper and the cat woman and that bloody Shichi woman who makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up and all the other bastards who're looking at me and saying all sorts of stuff and trying to get dunno what out of me! Enough, dammit! ENOUGH! I am NOT YOUR CHEW TOY!"

Ichigo threw his head back and laughed. "I was thinking about the same thing." Well, without the chew toy reference. But he supposed that that worked, too.

/

"Everything's going to be _fine_," Rukia assured Ichigo, who was quite uncomfortable. She was trying very hard to put on a show of optimism and cheerfulness to make up for everybody else's sulking – even Kisuke was too tired to make his usual jokes and speak in his sing-song way. "They can hardly be so unfair as to do some heinous thing to you, when you haven't done much wrong."

They were having lunch at the Kuchiki mansion before the trial – _they_ being Kisuke, Yoruichi, Renji, Rukia, Byakuya, Ichigo himself and supposedly Shichi, except she had skipped her meal to prepare her dramatic entrance again. It took Rukia about five seconds to realize why everybody - including Byakuya - was staring at her pointedly.

Incidentally, Ichigo was very uncomfortable not only because of the trial – he was certain that whatever aces they held up their sleeves were going to be played brilliantly by Kisuke, which didn't mean, however, that he took this lightly – but also because Renji was acting all weird and Ichigo didn't know how to ask what was wrong. Generally, he would have simply mentioned it, but now he felt almost as if he'd be intruding on something.

"On a second thought, forget I said anything," Rukia said, deflating. It was a wonder she'd forgotten her own near-execution quite that fast. Ichigo had assumed that it would be a traumatic incident of great enough proportion to create post traumatic stress syndrome in most people, but Rukia was fine. Not that he regreted it. He just found it weird.

Embarrassed, Rukia glanced around the room in an attempt to get away from the badly worded subject. She finally caught Renji's eye, at first absent-mindedly, and then focusing. Ah. She'd seen it. Ichigo breathed an internal sigh of relief. She'd be the one asking the question now. "Renji, why do you keep staring at me and then blushing?"

"Nothing," he mumbled.

She frowned, took in his appearance and his antiques, then ventured a logical guess. "Are you... going to ask me out? Is that it?"

Ichigo's breath caught in his throat.

"Rukia, you can't date Abarai," Byakuya interfered. He looked as impassive as ever, but his very strong opinion on the subject was emphasized quite obviously by most of his statement overlapping her second question, especially as he had spoken very quickly. And very protectively. Everybody shifted to attention, since, unlike Rukia's attempt to cheer them up, this was definitely going to be interesting.

"Why not?" Rukia said, surprised. Before her older brother could answer, however, somebody else jumped into the conversation.

"Actually, I agree with Byakuya," Ichigo blurted out before he realized he'd actually said it out loud. The young man blushed and reinforced his opinion in the desperate hope that his reaction would seem to be less weird then – which it didn't. "You shouldn't."

"What?" Rukia turned to him instead, even more surprised. "Ichigo-"

"What indeed," Byakuya interfered, narrowing his eyes very slightly at the boy. "How dare you presume to impose restrictions on my sister?"

Somewhere in the back of his head, Ichigo's mind announced him that Kisuke had just snapped open his fan so he could grin behind it in peace. It also told him that the grin was recorded in his memory so he could express his displeasure later – but now...

"I was agreeing with you!"

Rukia leaned over the table towards Ichigo, upset, supposedly realizing she _was _being imposed on. "What do you mean you agreed with him? Why _shouldn't _I date Renji?"

"He is not a noble," Byakuya said, at the same time at which Ichigo said, more tentatively, however, "It wouldn't work out?"

"What? Why are you against Renji?" Rukia asked, unsure of how to react to the two of them. "Nii-sama! Ichigo, why exactly wouldn't it work out?" She decided to focus on Ichigo, since she wouldn't dare impose herself before Byakuya. "I can make a relationship work just as well as anybody else! If I date Renji, it's going to work out _perfectly fine_. I can make my own decisions. Errr... Sorry, nii-sama." The last part added because she realized she may have overstepped her boundaries. "I didn't mean to... well... I'm so sorry, nii-sama. But if I want to go on the date, shouldn't I... go on the date..." She stopped abruptly in the face of what had come out of her mouth for the second time that meal.

Ichigo couldn't help but notice that Kisuke's shoulders shook tellingly, even if he was hiding his expression behind the fan. Yoruichi's tail was moving around very quickly. He supposed that was her own way of hiding her laughter. Renji hit his forehead with his hand, presumably in the search for a more adequate gesture that he couldn't find. He also jumped on the conversation wagon, to add his own bit of awkwardness.

"Aargh! Sorry for the confusion, but," the redhead paused, knowing this was going to be difficult, "Rukia, I... wasn't going to ask you out on a date."

There was a small, silent pause as Rukia blushed and lowered her head while Byakuya remained impassive. Ichigo licked his lips and said, "See? I told you it wouldn't work out."

That was all it took for Kisuke to burst out laughing. Byakuya gave a tiny cough that in no way resembled a snort.

"Well," Rukia said trying very hard to stop blushing, which resulted in an even deeper shade of red, "...whatever. So, Renji, let's try that again. Why do you keep doing that?"

"No reason. Just... Needed to talk to ya for a sec. In private. _Friendly _talk."

"Awww, Abarai-san, surely you've realized that we have no secrets here," Kisuke pipped in, fluttering his fan with much too much glee. Ichigo recognized the insane prying shopkeeper persona and cringed. He also realized that that statement was certainly untrue, but that was Kisuke for you. "Come on, spill the beans."

"I... errr... Well, I... Errr... This doesn't concern you."

"How impolite! Teasing us with a secret!" Kisuke huffed, leaning back and fluttering his fan with quick motions. "Now we will keep wondering what it was and won't be able to enjoy our meal, go to trial on an upset stomach and face some really frightening people while my thinking abilities are impaired because of my digestive system. Very rude of you, Abarai-san."

"Yep," Yoruichi added.

"I..." Renji said, blushing as scarlet as his hair. Then he stopped, because he didn't know how to continue that statement in such a way as to throw Kisuke off without sounding unnecessarily impolite. Ichigo empathized profoundly. "It's none of your business."

"You've just made it our business," Yoruichi cheerfully stated.

"I do not think-" Byakuya started.

"Shush," Yoruichi replied and winked. The noble's eyebrow twitched.

Renji's shoulders hunched in the face of this impossible social problem (or what he perceived to be an impossible social problem.) "I'm seeing someone," he said, finally, as if wrenching the words from himself.

"So who's the lucky girl?" Yoruichi pressed, smiling widely. "Assuming it's a girl, of course."

"Well... errr... It's a bit of a secret. Or it was supposed to be..."

"Tough luck now," Kisuke said, putting his fan down and going back to eating, chopsticks fluttering about in a manner strangely resembling that of the fan two seconds before. "You realize there's no way out of this situation. Now that you've blushed, you've given yourself away and we won't let you leave us hanging. Kuchiki-san, please don't frown, we need something relaxing before the trial, even if it's just seeing your vice-captain very uncomfortable and sprouting nonsense. It does Ichigo good, too! Look! He actually doesn't looking about to faint anymore."

Ichigo glared. "Kisuke..."

"It's alright to be worried, Ichi," Yoruichi said benevolently. "I was quite worried the first time I met the Central 46." She paused. "Mind you, I was 13 at the time."

"Precocious," Kisuke nodded with some admiration. "You broke the entrance door to the chamber, didn't you? Whizzed through it like a whirlwind, I've heard."

"It was my first day using shunpo and that door was in my way," she shrugged unapologetically. "I didn't realize where I was until I counted them and remembered the route I'd taken." She continued to explain how she'd convinced the 46 that she was a lost 'unofficial child' of one of them, but she couldn't remember whom, so she'd run around asking 'daddy' of each of them until her keeper came by and nearly died of embarrassment. The best part was, Yoruichi said, that she had no idea what she'd just convinced the 46 of. She'd had a habit of repeating stories and jokes as a child without necessarily getting the point, just to see people laugh. She'd accidentally disturbed a number of adults with very graphic images that she'd gotten the meaning of much, much later.

Ichigo wondered what it was like to have a billion stories to tell. He'd always felt a bit unexciting. Everybody else in the room had some sort of strange background. The noble with the dead wife, the self-exiled noble, the genius exile, the Rukongai rat who became vice-captain, the Rukongai rat who got adopted in a noble family and was nearly killed in a weird plot. As for himself, he was... what? A human who became shinigami and got nearly murdered by his friend's older brother, got into a weird plot, got accused of something unknown, was sleeping with... Huh, he supposed your life sounded more exciting when looked at from somebody else's point of view. Did this mean that he sucked as a story teller? Or that he was not impressionable by nature?

Yoruichi grinned at the redhead. "So, Renji, date, whom?"

"It's a woman," the man answered, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "But we're quiet about it."

"My, my," Kisuke said in his idiotic shopkeeper act. Ichigo felt almost embarrassed to be sleeping with him. But then the blond went back to normal and sighed. "Listen. There are things you need to know about how to keep a secret."

"We'll let you off this time for the girl's sake," Yoruichi picked up the conversation. "But. First of all, if you have a secret, don't let people know it's there."

"Otherwise they'll pry," Kisuke continued. "We're nice, so we'll let you off. Just this once." Wisely, nobody commented on the 'niceness' of Kisuke and Yoruichi.

"Talking about secrets," Rukia said, looking at Ichigo suddenly. "We need to talk, Ichigo."

That got everybody's attention. The atmosphere turned crisp and tense, because something in her voice said that this issue was serious. Not gossip, then, no embarrassment, but business.

"Eh?" Ichigo looked at her, bewildered.

"Nii-sama." Rukia bowed down in excuse. He nodded at her – did he know anything? Ichigo couldn't figure it out. Either he did, or he was allowing her to go away since she was proving distruptive. The small woman grabbed Ichigo and dragged him away with her without further ado.

"Hey! I was eating!"

"I need to talk to you. About secrets." Ichigo looked at the people still at the table, Kisuke, Byakuya and Yoruichi seemed to know what this was about. Renji looked as confused as Ichigo felt.

"Hey!" the young man protested weakly.

She dragged him down a few corridors to her bedroom in the Kuchiki mansion. Before he got up the guts to tell her he could walk – she looked a bit frightening -, she pushed him into her bedroom. There was no doubt that it was her bedroom. It couldn't have been anything else. It was horrifying. Every single surface seemed to scream to be released from its burden, every wall, every bit of furniture, trapped forever in bunny hell. It was filled with possibly all Chappy merchandise that was ever produced – Chappy plushies, Chappy drawings, Rukia's drawings of Chappy, a bed with Chappy sheets, some Chappy pencils and a Chappy eraser on the desk, a Chappy rug and, probably not finally, a Chappy bathrobe. Even the dust bunnies, should any ever gather, would probably look like Chappy.

"Byakuya let you do this to his house?" Ichigo asked, shocked.

"Yes," she answered. "He prefers traditional furniture, but he said he wouldn't mind if my room was modern, with a high bed and everything."

This wasn't what Ichigo had in mind at all, although he supposed it could be considered a crime to have European-style furniture in a traditional house, but he wasn't about to dig himself deeper. Instead, he sat on the Chappy bed, waiting for her to say why she had dragged him away from his food. He'd never have expected her to do such a thing in front of Byakuya – it was basically disrespectful, so she'd probably had a very good reason for it.

She looked at him, opened her mouth, then closed it and sat down on her desk chair, looking uncomfortable.

"You didn't tell us you were dating Urahara," she said, her voice soft all of a sudden. She'd given up on being scary, apparently. Ichigo felt that this was worse. "Not me, not Renji. Not your sisters."

"I..." he started, but didn't know how to finish that. He hadn't considered telling them. It had been so quick and then everybody had seemed to have been announced, and then he'd just assumed they'd known and...

"I'm not reproaching you," Rukia said, looking him honestly in the eye. He felt his heart crack just a tiny bit. Luckily, she spared further damage by thinking better about it. "Well, maybe I am. A little." Phew. It wasn't that horrible, then. He hoped she'd kick him soon. "Because you didn't trust us enough to tell us... I... We're still by you, no matter how much you fuck up your personal life, you know."

"I'm not fucking up my personal life." Ichigo said, defensively. He took a deep breath, wanting to explain how everything was alright, couldn't find the words, and stopped. "But thank you. I _would_ have told you, just... It all happened so quickly."

Rukia frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It's not as if I _chose_ for it to happen," Ichigo shrugged. "It just did."

"Ichigo!" she said, suddenly the hot tempered Rukia he knew her to be. "What happened?"

He suddenly realized how what he'd said sounded and blushed furiously. "It's ok," he said, not realizing that that particular reassurance made it sound as if it weren't 'ok' at all. "Weird start, that's all." Rukia relaxed. She could deal with 'weird start', but for a second, she'd felt concerned that Ichigo had been _coaxed _into this. "Kisuke is... Well, he did it to save me from the Central 46, which I didn't know at the time. He also seems to genuinely _care_ about me." But the final part of his speech made her worry again.

"How did it start?" It wasn't a question. It was a demand from a shinigami who was quite protective herself and who could suddenly smell a huge rat.

"Well, right after Orihime was kidnapped... He just... asked me to sleep with him so he'd open the Garganta."

She rephrased what he'd said quickly in her head. "He blackmailed you," she said, her eyes widening. She got off the chair, paced around the room furiously, barely containing her anger. "He blackmailed you!"

"He said he'd had a thing for me for awhile," Ichigo said, his mouth going a bit dry. "I think he was honest about that." He'd obviously said the wrong thing. Hell, he should have _thought_ before putting his foot in his mouth.

Rukia jumped on the bed and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. "Why didn't you say something? Why did you accept?" she demanded, but the subtext screamed at him a long, angry litany "Idiot! Idiot! IDIOT!"

"Kisuke said he'd deny it all." Ichigo tried to make her step back before she started hitting him. He grabbed her wrists gently, pulling at them, but she wouldn't give in. She kept shaking him whenever she needed to emphasize her words.

"I'd have believed you! Renji would have believed you! Nii-sama, too!" She looked about to cry, probably of anger. She was almost shaking as she hit her forehead against his chest. "You could have told us."

"It's all fine," Ichigo said, patting her back awkwardly. "He's alright. And there was a noble purpose to it – that's what matters, right?"

"Ichigo..."

"He didn't hurt me or anything. He was... neat, actually." He tried to find some better words, but couldn't at the moment, not with her like that, his every sense telling him to hold her, comfort her, let himself be comforted because _she_ needed to comfort. He had told Kisuke that he had a thing for her and it had been the truth, but right now, at this time, they couldn't do anything. It was too complicated and the last thing he needed was to acknowledge what he felt to add to that. If she wasn't interested, then this would be all the worse. If she was, then he'd break her heart. None of this. Later. It had to be delayed. Gods in heaven, if he'd ever had an opportunity, this was it, but he didn't have the chance, damn everything. He cared about Kisuke on a level, but right now he saw that whatever was between the two of them was little compared to the need to just be in love and kissing this beautiful woman who had slept for so long in his closet and gotten herself into his fantasies without her knowing it. Her fighting spirit, her kindness, her directness, they were what he wanted, what he felt so comfortable with. She was like him, she was...

He breathed in and out slowly.

"Oh, Ichigo." She hugged him tightly. "Don't... don't let people do things to you. Please..."

"Hey, hey, it's ok," Ichigo said, feeling a bit desperate because she was starting to sob and he had no idea what to do about it and a voice inside his head was demanding that he kiss her. "Really. It's fine. Don't make this into a bigger deal than it has to be."

"Idiot!" she cried and hit him, making him fall back on her bed, sprawled under her. "That's not how relationships go! You don't hurt somebody to make them sleep with you, no matter what the purpose is!"

"He didn't hurt me," Ichigo said awkwardly. "The sex is fine..."

"Screw that!" she cried at him. "That's not how you sleep with somebody! You're supposed to be-"

The door opened and both of them whipped their heads around to see who had just come in. Kisuke, with his green clothes, cane and hat, was standing in the doorway, staring at them bemusedly. Ichigo blushed as red as beet, feeling amazingly guilty. The man in the doorway was... Kisuke was... He gulped.

Kisuke took in his guilty look, understanding dawning on his face. The young man knew that the shopkeeper remembered his confession that day when he'd come back from Hueco Mundo, even if Rukia was in the dark at the moment. "You have bad timing," the blond said in his cheery acting tone, the 'amazed' variation. "Rukia-san, if you want to give sex lessons to Ichigo, you could have chosen a better moment."

The two on the bed looked at each other, took in their incriminating position and, as one, turned to Kisuke to say, "That's not what's going on!" Then Rukia rolled off Ichigo and sat as nobly as her training permitted. Ichigo rose on his elbows, distinctly uncomfortable. Rukia threw him a confused glance. He avoided her eyes, not sure how to convey the thing which he wanted to convey – not sure what that thing was, either.

"Pity," Kisuke said, smiling his trademark pervert smile. "Ichigo might have liked that."

The woman glared at him, all fire and annoyance.

"You know, Kisuke," Ichigo said, trying to intervene before they had a fight, "sometimes I think you're physically incapable of having normal reactions. Aren't you supposed to be, dunno, jealous?"

"Why, Ichi-"

"You blackmailed him," Rukia interrupted, looking darkly at Kisuke, a promise of pain in her voice. "You bastard."

"Ah," the shopkeeper said, his cheerfulness dropping suddenly.

"Rukia, I said it didn't matter!" Ichigo snapped, ashamed that he'd said something he probably wasn't supposed to. He looked up at Kisuke and nearly started an apology when he noticed that the man looked sincerely guilty.

"I know," Kisuke told Rukia. "But I had to."

"You could have seduced him," she accused. "I've heard of you lately. People comment. Old things are brought to light. It sounds as if you're good at getting people into bed." She seemed to spit every word. Ichigo wondered how he could stop this, how he could make the entire thing go away.

"No time," the blond said by way of explanation.

"So you chose to blackmail." Her tone conveyed the disdain she had for his choice perfectly.

"If he'd have been older, I'd have gotten him into a drunken one night stand," Kisuke said. "Or an affair. But, as it was, given the short time frame – days, may I say – using his tendency towards self-sacrifice seemed to be the best option."

It was probably more information than Ichigo ever needed to find out. It surprised him to see how much it hurt to hear himself be discussed like this. He didn't want... Dammit, he'd have expected Kisuke to have said something more... honorable, maybe? Not romantic, necessarily, but... higher, somehow. "I'm still here. Could you please stop talking about me as if I were some sort of damaged plushy with a giving in button?"

The two turned to stare at him. The young man realized that the comparison wasn't harsh enough to be sarcasm – which he'd intended it to be – and sounded instead as if he actually _were_ a damaged plushy with a giving in button, which was only one step beyond the stuff they'd been saying. There was an awkward pause as nobody quite knew what to say to that.

"I said it was fine," Ichigo finally continued, lamely. "Kisuke, I'll be right with you – but can you give us another few minutes to finish our discussion?"

"Sure," the blond replied, looking at Rukia. She didn't have anything to add, so he bowed and exited the room.

Rukia turned towards Ichigo, but found she couldn't look him in the eye, so she let her head drop as if the floor had some sort of hidden interest. "Ichigo... Do you love him?"

He went to her and embraced her, because that was something he felt he was allowed to do. It was a friendly gesture, nothing more. He felt a bit strange to be comforting her about something that was essentially his problem. "No," he sighed. He'd have liked to say 'yes' to that one. She clung to him harder, evidently gritting her teeth to stop herself from saying anything. "But I do like him. I'm attracted to him. I..." He awkwardly held Rukia's head tight against his chest, not wanting to see her face right then. She twitched, bemused at his gesture. "I like sleeping with him. That's enough for this, isn't it?"

She didn't reply for a long, long time. Ichigo was starting to fear that the silence would stretch out to such uncomfortable lengths that it would have to be broken by someone else barging in, when Rukia spoke again.

"Is there anybody you _really_ like?"

Now, here was a problem. Rukia herself, clinging to him so desperately, shielded in his arms, oh so very close, was the one – and if there was something that Ichigo had learned out of watching romantic comedies with his sisters, it was that one should never tell the girl they like that there is somebody, since they'll automatically assume that there is somebody _else._ Queue disaster. But he couldn't say 'no' either, since that too would exclude Rukia, which he didn't want to do, just in case the whole fiasco was ever over and he had the guts to ask her out. He couldn't say 'yes, you' right now, either. So, what on earth should he say?

"I... don't want to answer that question," he said, awkwardly.

She looked up and frowned. "Why not?" He could feel the beginnings of another 'you don't have faith in me' forming in her mind and felt that his answer was, alas, also not the perfect one.

"It would be a headache at the moment." Then he added, with all the confidence he could muster: "Trust me."

As she pondered that question, biting her lower lip probably without realizing she did so, Ichigo discovered a terrifying fact: his actions with Kisuke had loosened him up. His reactions were starting to be different. His tendencies, too. While before he'd have just felt awkward, right now there was a part of him that urged him to just lean down those centimeters and kiss her. He knew better than to do it, of course, but the fact that pressing his lips to hers would not seem like some sort of earth-shattering transgression was slightly frightening. The question of why he shouldn't do such a thing stood before him like the height of temptation. He should have realized this somewhere before, when he hadn't been shy about what he'd felt, when he'd been as confident as in battle. He hadn't thought that his relationship with Kisuke would affect him thus much.

"Now get off me before my legs go to sleep," he scowled. When in doubt, be yourself. It was a bad plan for others, maybe, but it had always seemed to work for him.

/

Kisuke had given him very clear instructions: do not look guilty. Look confident. Keep his chin up. Act. Play the part. Whatever had happened, between Ichigo and himself, between Ichigo and hollows, between Ichigo and Kisuke, between Ichigo and any friend, was perfectly fine and, if it was problematic, it would be discussed at another time.

The young man hadn't needed to be told twice to understand that Kisuke had picked up on his mood in Rukia's bedroom and had told him to keep his head for the period of the trial, coded in such a way so as everybody around them would miss the point of that speech.

Now, Ichigo tried very hard not to stare at the 46 people who had called them there. He was aided by the fact that most of them were in partial darkness. The place wasn't very impressive, if you didn't have a fear of the dark, especially considering that all those present were battle-hardened people, who could probably assassinate a roomful of people in utter darkness without once making an unnecessary gesture – well, all except the judges, who ironically weren't. Interestingly enough, the Gotei faction had decided to treat this as an open trial, in which anybody could come and assist – something that Byakuya had undoubtedly had a hand with.

There were a huge number of spectators there, even though they supposedly had nothing to do with the issue. It seemed that everybody who had ever exchanged more than two words with the orange haired youth had taken the chance to come and show their support and Soi Fon had decided not to interfere with the lack of security, although supposedly she would have been the one to keep order there. Ichigo had been told by a snickering Yoruichi that she had accepted to overlook the entire matter in the hopes that the young man would take the blond's affections away from his century-old relationship and onto greener pastures. The Captain of the 2nd Division would have loved Kisuke to lose the trial, but that wouldn't have brought _him _much harm, while supposedly Ichigo could relieve him of his brains and possibly make him join some sort of suicidal mission.

Everything began with accusations against Ichigo for being a 'dangerous beast', which was contradicted by those who knew him, who testified that he was far from being out of control, that he was on Seireitei's side, helpful against Aizen. All those fell against death ears, as it had been expected. But even knowing they would be obstinate and stupid, the young man couldn't help but feel quite bothered. He had expected even a tiny little bit of mellowing on their side, but now he really understood why Kisuke had felt it necessary to get him in bed at all costs. It wasn't about gaining certainty – it was about gaining a chance.

After that, Kisuke had pointed out that he had a relationship with Ichigo and all people who were his lovers had immunity from the King, which got them protesting in a number of directions: that there was no way in which the two had a relationship, that it was a fake immunity, that the King couldn't possibly have granted it, that it couldn't be worded that way – seriously, who had ever heard of anybody granting permission to 'all lovers one might have'?

Documents were produced to prove that the immunity was there and granted and very much real. And then people had testified about their being in a relationship, Yoruichi included. There was some hubbub about apprehending her for past transgressions, which led to her stating she was also Kisuke's lover, which led to quite a buzz about how this wasn't allowed, to which the blond replied that no, it was very much allowed and it didn't say anywhere that he wasn't allowed to have a harem. Besides, the wording was "any lover he may have", not "the lover he has at the time", which further clarified things. Which threw a very interesting light on Kisuke's love life, they said. Well, Kisuke _supposed_ that was so, but if there were rules against immorality, he was immune against those, too.

So they declared they didn't believe he could possibly be in two relationships at the same time, regardless of testimonies and morality, because such things didn't happen and neither Yoruichi, nor Ichigo were likely to accept such a deranged agreement. Videos were produced, with Kisuke's comment about how all of this was rather embarrassing and thoroughly unnecessary – stated, however, in his perverted shopkeeper voice, which threw a dubious light on how much it really bothered him. There first short video showed Yoruichi and Kisuke – it was astonishingly explicit, more so than Ichigo had expected. Had he seen it anywhere else, he'd have considered it blatant homemade pornography, which in a way it was. Beyond that, it was strange to watch the woman happily bouncing on top of Kisuke. However, what was ever stranger and more embarrassing was having the Yoruichi next to him cheering and applauding freely, eliciting embarrassed coughs from various people in the room.

Then there was a short video of that first morning they had shared, with Ichigo on top of Kisuke. It had a decidedly less bouncy feel to it and it was blurred in the right places to protect modesty without hiding the identity and actions of the two. Life did grant small favors, apparently.

"I chose this one because I thought you'd be less unhappy with being shown on top," Kisuke whispered in his ear. "I don't care either way."

Ichigo felt as if he could sink in the ground anyway. That was a very, very private moment. He supposed that after you got more practice, or whatever the hell you called it, you stopped feeling so horrid about it, but that _was _his first time doing... that... and he could feel the red climbing higher and higher on his face. The fact that Yoruichi cheered during _his_ video, too, didn't help any. He tried to shove his hands hard in his pockets before he realized he didn't have any. It was so fucked up, seeing himself like that over there and he looked so pathetic, so...

Somebody made a rather rude comment on the nature of Kisuke's position in bed, which he seemed to prefer with both men and women, to which the shopkeeper replied, very cheerfully,

"Well, 'uke' _is_ part of my first name."

Ichigo suddenly realized why Kisuke had chosen that video instead of others, which didn't contain the young man's first _anything _and felt grateful. Then, to his inner relief, some people cried out that this whole thing was beside the point and can we please stop watching those images we shouldn't be watching now? Kisuke shrugged and said he hadn't_ wanted _to show them, but there you have it. Before the 46 could come up with some new protests, he launched his own attack, stating that when Kuchiki Aaoyama was sent over to his place, some rather irregular things had happened.

And that was when the mood became much, much darker.

Kisuke presented the abridged version of the events in a sing-song manner which clashed wildly with the story he was telling. Somehow that was worse than Ichigo would have expected – the choice of words, the intonation, it all served to make his hair stand on its ends. Yoruichi and Byakuya stood up for him as heads of their respective noble houses, stating that such things were thoroughly unacceptable and a disgrace to the entire system. Words flew, facts were affirmed, it was cried out that the blond's very own immunity had been ignored, that such things were in any way a horrid transgression against every man's personal rights. It was entirely despicable – did not the Central 46 check their agents for moral integrity? Why had they chosen – because, indeed, it had been them who had chosen – somebody who was not renowned for his high moral qualities, but a person about whom less than favorable rumors abounded? Surely, Aaoyama had not been recommended by the Kuchiki house, because Byakuya remembered putting a word _against _the choice a long time back when he had first been taken in their employment. His opinion as head of clan had been disregarded, which, while well within the rights of the 46 to do, had proven quite unwise. Measures needed to be taken, either by the Central 46, which was preferable, or by the Kuchiki clan, which would point to the incapability of the judiciary system to act on its own.

The 46 stated that they could not believe that the crime had happened. Urahara Kisuke was surely attempting to denigrate Seireitei, against which he might hold a grudge, by making false, sensationalist accusations. Sasakibe testified for Kisuke – he had been convinced by Byakuya to testify, lest he should be accused himself– that he had left Aaoyama alone with Kisuke, knowing that the man wanted to 'persuade' the exile to drop his protection of the young man. He stated that he had not realized the method of that attempt and he had closed an eye, thinking it wouldn't go too far. It had been wrong, of course, but he had genuinely believed that the matter was fishy, to say the least. Kisuke graciously said he forgave Sasakibe, but the man should take better care next time.

The Central 46 demanded proof. So video evidence was brought yet again, Kisuke commenting that his video security was much, much more useful than he'd ever imagined it would be when he'd installed it. As they saw Aaoyama use Zaraki's gigai, they claimed that Ichigo had been impersonated by Yoruichi in a gigai closely resembling the young man. In response to that, many people facepalmed, outwardly or inwardly, and Kisuke simply grabbed Ichigo and snogged him, asking, when he was done, if the judges could get a grip already, though not with those words.

Somebody brought up the question of the reason for the two men's relationship – had they gotten together just to grant the young man immunity?

Kisuke grinned at them. "Yes. But you would be quite hard pressed to declare the immunity void because of that." He took out his fan, hid his face behind it and continued: "Mind you, the sexual part is a delightful bonus for an old pervert such as myself."

Ichigo wondered when his blush would go down, especially when somebody cried out something about the age of consent and they had to bring the Japanese laws about it into the discussion, proving that, incidentally, he was fine.

"People make the mistake of believing that the age of consent is 18 universally," Kisuke commented, "but it varies according to area and is generally lower. 18, or 21, is the age when you are generally allowed to vote. Or drink. Or smoke. People get lenient about sex, possibly because they themselves and most people they knew stopped being virgins at quite early ages."

But, the 46 said, Urahara Kisuke was Kurosaki Ichigo's mentor! As such, this was forbidden, since the older man had the advantage of position over the younger one and could have coaxed him into a sexual relationship by using said advantage!

"You know what?" Kisuke said, smiling in a way which said he wasn't amazingly happy about that trail of thought, "I'm sure my immunity covers even this illegal aspect of our relationship."

It went on in a hard battle, moving two steps forward, one step back in a complex dance of what was and wasn't allowed, of immorality and indecent questions. Eventually Kisuke brought the discussion to the topics of other illegalities, such as his exile from one century before, or Rukia's near-execution (although the latter was technically ordered by Aizen) and other odd, harmful decisions made by the 46 at various times.

They noticed, in the end, that they were losing ground. Despite the evidence, despite protests, the Central 46 was obstinately bringing things to a truce in which they would let Ichigo live, and that was about it. Kisuke was aiming for more, however, pressing advantages and milking them for all they were worth, fighting with every part of his being towards making them insecure, trying to drag things on so as to gain enough momentum to start making even the smallest change. Ichigo was amazed at the way he talked, acted, at all the knowledge he held. He wasn't like a shark, the way they called successful lawyers, but like one hell of a good wolf driving a huge number of sheep in the wanted direction, slowly, restlessly. Beneath the mellow exterior, beneath the happy voice and the waving of the fan, there was a pacing, wild wolf demon. Ichigo realized this was not a man he wanted to face in a fight. He was also fascinated by this person who was so impossibly crafty, hidden, who acted all the time and never seemed to speak his mind. There was a good reason why he'd allowed this to continue beyond the time when it _needed_ to do so – and that was that Kisuke was a horrid influence. It was probably an airborne virus of promiscuity, or a sexually transmitted one, rather, which made him wonder why he shouldn't still see the man, even if he was in love with Rukia, because, after all, Yoruichi and he...

But no, you couldn't go around doing that. Not normal people, they couldn't. He'd be breaking hearts, his own, Rukia's. Maybe even Kisuke's, if the man was capable of having his heart broken. This thing between them, it was a fling, nothing more, and if he liked the man he had it with, if he enjoyed their actions together, if he was fascinated by his prowess in so many domains, well, that had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. So it would end, because Ichigo knew it had to end, because you move on and stop thinking about shopkeepers who are as seducing as sin.

When things were finally starting to get to some semblance of agreement, though Kisuke was far from satisfied and still trying to fight against the system, Shichi showed up in full glory – Ichigo assumed that she would have banged the doors of the chamber open had they not, in fact, been already open. She stomped to the middle of the room, announced her identity and stated she was there as a witness and humble commentator of the situation. She declared that she, too, as a member of the Zero Division, agreed with the point that the leading group of Seireitei were wrong more often than they were right, that they were detached from reality and who was she to say this, but maybe Aizen had had a good idea among all the bad ones he kept having, because, frankly, the time and effort spent with this trial would have been infinitely better spent preparing for battle.

The part where she implied the deaths of the previous Central 46 were warranted captured their attention entirely. She couldn't, of course, get in trouble for it, since she hadn't said anything clearly and she wasn't under their jurisdiction in any way – and she could, obviously, go berserk on them while everybody stood back to watch.

She said that she had a personal suggestion, not related to the King at all, since the King didn't want to interfere with Seireitei, but really, since they were such a horrid assortment of bad decision-makers traditionally and the new batch of them wasn't proving any smarter than the originals, why didn't they just change the judgment system? Not by much, mind you. There would still be 46 judges, except 16 of them should be from the Gotei. Votes, as usual, had to get a minimum of 66% to be passed and that meant at least all of the isolated people, plus one Gotei member. The shinigami had to be fifth seats and higher, with the exception of the Soutaichou, who had a lot on his head anyway, so he wouldn't be allowed to hold too much power in Seireitei, but maybe they could find a Fuku-Soutaichou or something who could be part of the 46.

"What do you think you're doing, Shichi-san?" Kisuke asked, waving his fan in front of his face with a bit more than simple annoyance. Ichigo wondered why he seemed more bothered now than during all the rest of the trial.

"私?" she said, innocently, batting her eyelashes. "何も!"

In a far away corner of the room, between simple spectators, Yachiru pulled at Yumichika's pants and asked him what the lady with the deranged smile had said. "She said '_Me? Nothing'_," the fifth seat answered, then added, "it's in English."

"Ok!"

Yamada Hanatarou – who had been there to testify for Ichigo's kindness during the ryoka invasion episode – suggested in a stuttering voice that the exiles should be allowed back, since they were proved to be good. After all, they had known Aizen was evil earlier on than many others and they had been framed. What about them joining the 46, if they were willing to? Although, with the way they had been treated, maybe they didn't, but Hanatarou hoped that they wouldn't be offended by the suggestion, since it was a peace sign.

"So," Shichi said, not paying much attention to Hanatarou, in the same way in which she didn't pay much attention to anything that wasn't standing directly in her path, "take the suggestions or leave them, ha, ha. And if there is a suggestion I would simply _love_ to make"- she stressed the word in such a way as to make it clear to everybody that this was a _Suggestion_ that had better be taken -"it would be that Urahara Kisuke here was chosen for the post of Fuku-Soutaichou! He used to be a Captain, he has direct experience with the juridical system, he has experience as far as laws are concerned, his character has been found to be immoral only as far as sexual perversions are in question and he has a clear head on his shoulders that allows him to see important issues clearly."

Ichigo couldn't help but stare – Kisuke? Fuku-Soutaichou? The man was a menace, surely this could never happen! He looked at the shopkeeper, wanting to see how he'd reply and saw him frozen, his fan unmoved in front of his face, his eyes fixed on Shichi with a cold, impersonal murderous intent lurking behind an expectation to see where this was going.

/

**AN:** That's all for today, folks. This was one of the most difficult chapters to write so far – usually one part or another wouldn't work properly. Here, nothing seemed to work. The beginning went bad, then the end, then the middle. Hopefully, I've managed to pull it all together. It took even longer to work through it than it otherwise might have done due to RL problems ranging from being sick to toothache, to having to edit film scripts, to moving about the country, to a car accident and so on and so forth.

(I have a moldy wall, btw, and an account on deviantart, where I go by the nickname of theothersarshi)

**Don't forget to review! It makes me happy and influences my writing for the better **(aka, there's times when feedback makes me realize which aspect I was entirely forgetting about in the next chapter. You make me lose some plotholes :) )


	15. In Which Kisuke More or Less Decides

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Christmas.

Or Bleach.

**AN 1: **Merry Christmas, everyone! I figured that the least I could do was to update. *blush* I've been writing this on and off since about when I posted the last chapter.

**Completely random AN 2:** I'd like it noted that, in Romanian, the word (pronounced as) 'koi' is slang for 'testicle'. So whenever I write about Byakuya's koi I start giggling automatically.

**AN 3: **I also have an account on deviantART, under the name of theothersarshi. You can find some of my original work there, a few photos, crappy drawings and a short film. Self-pimping ftw!

**Chapter 14: In Which Kisuke More or Less Decides**

Ichigo was sitting in a corner of a room in Byakuya's mansion, leaning against a pillar, holding the cat Yoruichi tightly against him. Maybe he was pressing her a bit too tightly, but neither of them really noticed or cared. Not far away, Kisuke was arguing with Shichi.

"What exactly is it that you are doing?" the blond demanded, in a voice that was too schooled not to seem tense.

They had termed this room to be a 'private enough' environment for the inevitable discussion. Shichi's proposal, which had landed like a boulder in everybody's stomach, had been decreed to cause 'too much hubbub', so the Central 46 had decided to retire until the next day. It would give everybody time to think and freshen up for another battle which was bound to be much more unpredictable.

"The right thing," Shichi answered, with a smile that wasn't reassuring at all. "Offering you the opportunity you wanted to change the world."

"All for my sake, then, is it?" Kisuke smiled back.

Ichigo felt Yoruichi stirring, climbing on him, her claws piercing his skin lightly. It tickled, but he didn't push her away. She settled on his shoulder somehow, in a precarious balance that respect would not let him break. She stretched her neck and started whispering in his ear.

"He's getting annoyed," she observed. "You can tell by the smile. And no wonder, either. She has no right to meddle here, no position, no idea what she's causing."

Ichigo nodded, feeling very awkward. While he was approximately appreciative for the first part of the comment, the second was spat out with maliciousness. Yoruichi wasn't one to usually give in to dislike. At least, he didn't believe he had ever heard her as _mean _as she'd sounded just now. It was distressing. A little part of his universe crumbled. Of course, she had the same right to be petty anybody had, but...

"You were losing, Urahara. Admit it. Maybe not the battle for the boy's life, but you weren't getting too far by way of changing the law system." Shichi looked very sure of herself when she said that.

"So you decided to help." Kisuke, on the other hand, was ironic.

"Yes." She held her own, facing his irony with strength.

Kisuke took a deep breath, then placed the fan mysteriously before his face and said, in a distant, cold tone: "I thank you for your interference and advice, Shichi-san. It will, undoubtedly, have a very strong effect on the Central 46, as you are a truly highly esteemed individual whose opinion is of the utmost importance." Ichigo tried to figure out what the blond meant by that. It was as if the discussion had plunged into muddy waters. Kisuke sounded dead serious – so was this sarcasm? But what he said was sort of true, although exaggerated, so it wasn't _proper_ sarcasm. He so wished he could understand what was going on there. "It would appear that now I must be grateful, indeed, and apologize profoundly for my previous behavior. Of course, I will have much to repay, when the time comes and this is a debt that perhaps Shichi was unkind to load on my poor, humble shoulders."

"Fuck," Ichigo murmured.

"Eh?" Yoruichi said back, in just as hushed a voice.

"I lost track of the conversation."

"Kisuke is implying that she's doing this to place him as her man here and saying he doesn't agree. He's also being bitchy about it."

The orange haired young man suddenly felt even more inadequate than usual. He'd never been good at excessive politeness and it felt weird to have somebody translate for him from Japanese to Japanese. He saw Shichi pausing and licking her lips carefully, however, and felt just a tiny bit better thinking she probably wasn't faring so well, either.

"One should assume, Urahara-san, that among such old acquaintances as ourselves, debts of this meager kind can only be discarded and forgotten, for if one kept track of all tiny services one did for such a person, we would only be repaying each other our entire lives." No, wait. Ichigo had been wrong. She was doing well enough for his brain to short-circuit again. Yoruichi's furry ears caressed his chin as she shifted positions, making a small, surprised noise. "So, what would actually appear is that we must not mention such things between us, if at all possible, for there are greater concerns at hand."

"Uh oh," Yoruichi muttered.

"Isn't she saying 'don't mention it'?" Ichigo felt amazingly confused now. He had been _sure_ he'd gotten that part.

"Exactly."

"Then what's wrong?"

"This is _Shichi _we're talking about. It means her purpose is either achieved, or will be achieved just by Kisuke taking the position."

"And that's bad?"

"This is _Shichi_ we're talking about."

Ichigo took that to mean 'yes'. He couldn't understand why Yoruichi had such a great grudge against the Zero Division member, though. They were like cats and dogs together – pardon the pun. He might have assumed that there was something from the past involved, but then Kisuke would have been just as set against her, which was not the case. The blond was wary, but not resentful. So there was something between the two women – he could see some sort of maliciousness from Shichi, too, but...

Too complicated. Maybe they'd fought once or something. Yeah. He'd stick with that for now.

Kisuke, on the other hand, didn't seem perturbed by Shichi's statement. "How long does Shichi-san intend to remain in our circles of the world?"

"A few days, at most," she answered.

"And when shall she return?"

"None too soon. I hope for a holiday, once current events are over. You shan't see me, or hear of me, as often as before."

That got a reaction out of both Yoruichi, who seemed to freeze, and Kisuke, whose eyebrow shot up in surprise. Ichigo assumed that he had expected some sort of demand from him no matter what she had claimed. This changed things, Ichigo thought. He wasn't sure how or why, but suddenly the blond looked very tired.

"Shichi-san," he said, after a short silence, his voice as mellow and as polite as before. "I believe that we can be polite to each other all day long without exhausting ourselves much, or getting anywhere. I will admit to being quite tired and willing to go to bed. Permit me to ask a most impertinent question."

"Go ahead."

"Why did you offer me for the position of fuku-soutaichou?"

"Do you not want it, Urahara-san?"

"I have a life in the real world; I have quit the one here such a long time ago. There is the shop to be considered, freedom, experiments, Ururu and Jinta, Yoruichi... Ichigo. I do not belong to Soul Society any longer."

"Yet you want Seireitei to change. It shan't happen on its own. To believe that a series of court meetings would be enough to radically revolutionize the system here is a naivety, as you very well know. What has happened today, what will happen tomorrow, these things... They are only the beginning. You _can_ start a revolution. But not by hiding back in your shop in Karakura."

"Still, my position is somewhat delicate."

"Life is not easy."

"I wish she'd just say what her hidden purpose was," Yoruichi growled in Ichigo's ear. Shichi turned her head to look at them.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be _hidden_, now would it, kurokitty?" She grinned at the black cat. Yoruichi swished her tail around Ichigo's nose, making him swat in reflex. "My hearing is just as good as yours, ya know. Would you please stop making nasty comments about me where I can hear you? _Thanks_. Anyway, Urahara-san, if I were you, I'd consider my proposition. If I have any _hidden purposes_ it's no concern of yours, as long as what _you_ want gets done. Right?" She turned her back towards him, and took a few steps towards the exit before turning her head towards Yoruichi. "Now I am leaving because it's a dramatic gesture at a dramatic moment," she said. "How's that for a hidden purpose?"

She left.

* * *

Kisuke was anything but happy. For all of his reluctance to admit it, there may have been a point to Shichi's speech. And here came the great question: was he capable of giving away his well-earned freedom, his home, his _life_ to pursue this goal? It would be easier to die at the hand of Aizen than to toil day after day after day to change a system as old and heavy as an elephant crossed with a turtle crossed with a sequoia tree crossed with a mountain.

He knew that he'd embarked on his quest with much less thought and consideration than he should have, acting under the impulse of pain and protection. However, that was not an excuse. Reality had no real use for excuses. It was humans who felt the need to dance around each other, explain why they had done wrong, who had a profound need to be well-seen. It was they alone who felt comforted by an 'I'm sorry', who could forgive, who could explain away a failure. It was a marvelous faculty, Kisuke thought. You asked for understanding – and received it. You invoked not justice, but warmth and care. It was something that didn't exist in nature; no matter how sorry the antelope was, no matter how well-justified spraining its leg was, she would still be eaten by the lion.

So what was the Central 46?

It should have been human, he supposed, being composed of humans. But, like all groups of people with authority, but with little actual strength, it was a cornered rat rather than an entity capable of forgiving. It was a lion needing to feed, a bull striking at the wolf pack attacking it. And to fight it, it wasn't enough to come with reason and with gentle demands of forgiveness and justice. It called for a show of strength, because where the fearful, mistrustful part of the animal instinct existed also existed its weak point: it respected those above it, who could growl, bare their teeth menacingly, stand their ground and threaten with pain. Kisuke knew he would have to be bold and move in like a tiger among sheep, declare the place his territory and push the cheek to great and careful limits.

He could do that. He could be a fierce leader, a great thing of prey. But it wasn't in his nature to be so. He was a scientist and a mellow man – he was very much aware of that. He didn't like throwing shows of power, didn't enjoy getting others to submit. Yes, he'd been a captain, but that had been Yoruichi's doing.

The question was not, at this point, whether he could take on the Central 46 or not. Shich had placed him in such a position as to give him every chance of winning.

It was a battle, but not outside of him, not to defeat a handful of fools, but inside of him, between everything he was, everything he held dear in life, everything that was to him comfort and joy, a battle between being Kisuke and being able to do good. Honestly, being Kisuke won hands down. The glory that came from being a hero was much overrated. Knowledge that you were doing the right thing by sacrificing yourself could only get you so far. He could win this battle against Seireitei, forget the war, forget the injustice and retreat with Ichigo and Yoruichi back to his normal life. Yes, the boy would be bound to him under pain of punishment from the Central 46 and a new trial – but even that appealed to him now, in his tiredness. It was a security. It was like a marriage, like possession. No matter what, he would have Ichigo.

Selfish, selfish, selfish. He had no problems admitting it.

There was an army of people that would have gasped with shock had they known what Kisuke thought. Scandalized. Horrified. The shopkeeper had the vision of Isshin disemboweling him. Yet how many were actually willing to live a life of heroic sacrifice? How many would quit everything they ever wanted or needed to fix something that had been wrong for centuries. Maybe they'd quit hunting down Ichigo after awhile, anyway.

But as he thought of Ichigo, he realized he couldn't do it, he couldn't back out now. The boy would possibly accept being tied to Kisuke indeterminately, but he never understand backing out of a fight. Such a fiery youth, so much stupid determination, so much wonderful simplicity and common sense. Ichigo was what the 11th Division had been meant to be. Heroic, simple, faithful, wonderful in everything that he was. He would jump forward and think of the implications later – no imagination, that one, to think of what could be or what could have been. Kisuke was a much, much milder man. And this wasn't just about spoiling himself, or refusing to do something difficult. He knew all about 'difficult' and coming back to Seireitei deserved its own word to describe how 'above very difficult' it was. There was a severe lack of cutting enemies to pieces and a back-breaking amount of politics and grey areas, of never being certain whether you were achieving something or not. Of spending days and evenings with senile men, trying to find an ideal solution that didn't exist. It was a Chinese drop, the death of the spirit in a slow, agonizing bureaucracy. Hardly if ever feeling that you were achieving anything and nearly never going feeling victorious. It was the tiny life of appetizers, handed out tea, endless discussions and nothing interesting. Kisuke wanted nothing to do with it. Death on the battlefield would be a thousand times more pleasant.

...Maybe he would have had a chance to be with Ichigo even if it hadn't been forced on them. Maybe it would have worked out somehow, maybe he could have had both the young man and the life in Karakura, maybe...

No. He couldn't start daydreaming now. There was no time, he had to reach a decision – and he felt so tired, so, so tired... He could see it. Years upon years of playing the tiger among monkeys, using politics, trying to sway a large group of inflated egos to see righteousness. Coming back to an empty home, dropping the mask hardly if ever. More difficult, much more difficult than his first period in Seireitei. He didn't want this.

Yet Ichigo... Yet Seireitei. If there was nobody there to change things, they wouldn't change of their own accord.

When he finally reached the bedroom that night, in Byakuya's house, of course, he discovered that the noble had decided to either be annoying, or be very helpful, because he had placed Kisuke, Yoruichi and Ichigo in the same bedroom, with three tatami mats sprawled on the floor one next to the other. This raised a few very interesting possibilities. Either Byakuya wanted to show his support of their cause through this arrangement and allow them to freely act as they wanted (not knowing that while both Yoruichi and Ichigo were his lovers, they weren't a trio). _Or_ he was showing his disapproval of their habits, knowing that things would be awkward, and placing them in such a position as to not allow them to act freely. He could be trying to accommodate his guests with all the magnanimity of a Kuchiki leader, or he could be hiding against his politeness as a Kuchiki leader to put them in an uncomfortable position, thus proving an uncalled for and unexpected mean streak.

Or any of a dozen other variants that he could think of on the spot. Maybe he hadn't considered the problem and the servants had assumed they knew the answers themselves. Maybe he...

No. There were already too many serious things he should be thinking about. Byakuya's mind was not among them. Whether the noble liked or disliked Kisuke's way of life, whether he'd intended to be mean or nice, whether he even knew of this, none of these mattered at the moment because it simply wasn't a case of life and death.

"Well, then, I'm off to my favorite tree," Yoruichi said after the necessary awkward pause. He put a hand on her elbow before she could take off.

"Stay," he told her. "I appreciate the gesture, but I can't possibly tell you how tired I am. Even if I _wanted _to do anything whatsoever with them, I'd be unable to move a muscle. And we all need our sleep." He grinned, as if struck by an idea. Apparently, he always had just a tiny spark of steam left for noble causes "Say, how about Ichigo being in the middle? That way you can seduce him and we'd eventually have-"

"Shut up," Ichigo cut him off, blushing.

"You're still taking the middle one, Ichi! Kisuke's reasoning might not be sound, but I want a word with you and speaking over his body isn't nice, pleasant, or polite."

"All solved, then," Kisuke said, undressing fast, until he was stark naked, then shoving himself in the bed and falling asleep instantly.

* * *

"That was fast," Ichigo said, staring at Kisuke, who had basically bolted out of his clothes and into dreamland on the leftmost tatami. He felt awkward. There was the man, completely naked, while he and Yoruichi were dressed, each of whom perfectly comfortable with being naked around Kisuke, but uncom-... He stopped. Well, obviously, she had no trouble with clothes or lack thereof whatsoever. It was Ichigo himself who was feeling like an idiot.

He hoped she wasn't about to sleep nude. _He_ was keeping his underpants on. And maybe his pants, too. And a shirt.

"He has a knack for speed. I like to think I taught him that." Yoruichi nodded in approval. She, too, undressed. Realizing that not doing anything of the sort now would grant her a strip show later, the young man discarded as many clothes as he felt comfortable with and slid into bed.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asked.

"Not talk, necessarily. Just a little thing about you, him and me."

"This is getting complicated," Ichigo sighed. "And embarrassing. Honestly, I... Aizen is a danger to us, to the entire world and we're here, discussing relationships! Just... what the fuck?"

"I agree with that," she said. "All I wanted to tell you was that I really am ok with it. No grudges. Don't try to kick me off, though, or I'll kick back. But I can see the way you jump around me, the way you look at me. You're so _guilty_. Stop that."

"You don't honestly mean to tell me that it's all _fine_," he said, turning towards her, but then, feeling very aware of her complete and utter nakedness (shameless woman), he turned on his back again. "That you don't _care_. Even if you cheered during the video of me and him." Which had been amazingly awkward, by the way.

She chortled. "Oh, that was a good one!... But yes, you're right. I do care. However, as I've said before, this is how Kisuke _is_. How he'll always be. I can't stop it, I can't prevent him from running around, from having his fun, or his whatever." She considered. "So far, I've out-waited everybody else. I'll wait for your time to go away, too. No offense."

Ichigo shifted, uncomfortable. "Ah." She smirked at him.

"You wanted the truth, so now you have it. I wait. I'm here. I'm the main person. But that doesn't mean that I want you to be _hurt_. Least of all do I want Ki hurt. I guess I could go against you, plot to take you away from him and all that, but, frankly, we don't have either the time or energy to go to psychological war for him when, as you've said, there's Aizen. 'Sides, you're a good kid. I want to conspire with you in making him happy. Because he really, really likes you for some reason."

"How is that going to help _you_?"

"I still stay involved. I'm still the main, supporting him. Do you see that?"

He considered. He didn't think he himself would think that way, but uncommon people seemed to make up the majority of the world, so... "I suppose I can," Ichigo answered. He felt the need to add something to that. "I don't think I love him. I admire him and I'm attracted to him, but that may just be the... err... well, the... dammit.. talking. He said that a body doesn't know where the pleasure is coming from, so that's why I can like sleeping with him, even if I'm not really gay and... and all."

"He told you that," Yoruichi said, but made it sound more like a statement, not a question. "Yes, I suppose he would." She sighed, searching for words. "Kisuke is a brilliant scientist, but sometimes... What I want to say is that he was wrong. Your body cares very much. You don't just turn gay because you're feeling good. There's degrees in everything, so the categories of 'heterosexual' and 'gay' are more like guidelines, with a lot of gray in between, but I'd say you were bi. With a strong inclination towards women, maybe, but still some towards men. His plan would have failed utterly had this tendency not existed in you."

He turned again towards her, trying to keep his face schooled and his mind off the fact that he was trapped between two very naked bodies. "But I never before liked any men."

"You're still young. You haven't tried many things. I, on the other hand, _have_. And I've discovered that I'm not bi, as I wanted to be. I'm just into men. Soi Fon would be very pleased otherwise. This theory of pleasure that Ki gave you is there because he doesn't see some limitations in people, in the same way in which he is unable to make the connection between people getting other lovers and then leaving. Consciously, he is aware that getting a new lover can turn you away from the old one. Unconsciously, it never sinks in. He has many theories, but if they're about people and not science, forget about them. Or listen to them, but be aware that they're based solely on himself. Not on others – on his own experience."

"Oh."

She was quiet after that. None of them could find anything to say.

Some time later, Ichigo realized she'd fallen asleep. He, on the other hand, felt unable to close even a single eyes. The sheets felt rough, the floor was hard and the mattress insufficient. Something buzzed. He regretted taking the middle tatami now, because there was no way in which he could turn away and sleep, what with Kisuke and Yoruichi being so close to him. He tried to calm down, stop moving about unless he should wake them, but he couldn't help shifting all the time.

Eventually, he gave up. He felt too restless to keep trying to sleep, so he slipped out of bed and went outside, heading for the koi pond, only to realize when he got there that cloudy nights weren't helpful when it came to seeing fish. But it didn't matter – he wasn't really going there for the koi, after all. All he could see was a darker dark where the water probably was, with a reflected light floating on the surface, shivering slightly whenever the pond was disturbed by whatever insignificantly tiny something fell on it.

He felt helpless, left out of the loop somehow. There was no braving the enemy now, no heroic fight against Aizen or the Central 46. His arms and legs were bound by invisible strings, a noose around his neck. He had been told that there was nothing he could do. If anything could be done, others would get right to it. In case Aizen struck, Shichi would fight him. In case he didn't, a number of divisions were searching for him.

Was the entire world conspiring to make him feel helpless? To make him feel lost, and small, and useless? He _knew_ he had power – but even so, he was still marginal in the great scheme of things, he didn't fit _anywhere_. Was this how normal people felt? Or did everybody deceive themselves that they had some sort of power over their lives, over the world?

So... tiny.

He depended on Kisuke for protection against Soul Society, on Shichi for protection against Aizen, on god knew who for finding out where Aizen was; on his father to provide the money he needed to live in real life. On his teachers, to teach everything he needed to know. On Kisuke again, to show him what physical love was like. On the people who made his clothes, on the people who grew the rice he ate every day. On cooks. On Byakuya, for providing him with a shelter for this occasion.

The list went on, longer and longer. He knew he was being silly, taking this to the extreme, but, as he thought on those who cut his hair and made his shampoo, Ichigo realized something.

It wasn't just him. It was everybody. All the people in the world depended on others in some way, unless, like Robinson Crusoe, they were stranded far, far away, alone, _forced_ to do everything themselves. He wasn't at all excluded by this dependence – he was included. He was as much a link as everybody else and even if he was passive _now_, he had a very clear and important role. He fought Hollows, rescued souls from being eaten. He shone brightly, but he was just a star on the firmament, sometimes needed, sometimes not. Right now he wasn't. Yet, in this context, the thought didn't bother him as much; he could feel the others play their parts while he waited to become active again.

With the thought of a starry, clear night in mind, and with the lack of one physically, Ichigo was about to head back when he heard noise. He tensed from reflex, looking around, but saw nothing. Or, well, saw nothing until the koi pond's water was disturbed. He turned to gaze through the darkness. What he saw was small, light-haired and with the air of restrained hyperactivity.

"Yachiru?" he hissed, surprised. The little girl had her arms in the water high up to the elbows.

"Shh!" she said, turning around and pressing a finger to her lips. "Ukii likes koi."

"You're _stealing_ Byakuya's _koi_?"

"Shhhhhhh!" she admonished him. "He won't notice, since he's having sex with Shichi now, but the others in the house might hear you."

...Mad. The entire world was nothing short of mad. If he had ever doubted that this was the case, he was now proved wrong. And since he'd just thought about why the world was mad and didn't feel like re-listing it all, he instead sat down and accepted it. He accepted that little pink haired girls were involved in dubious activities, spying and that they knew about things they theoretically shouldn't have known about. He felt the grass under him, soft, cold, wet with dew, but the world was simplifying itself just because he wasn't thinking it any longer. All the paradoxes, all the problems, if he observed them instead of thinking them, they were... simple. They fit. The entire madness fit together like a big puzzle. He could just picture it.

Somewhere in the world, Aizen was probably sleeping and dreaming of taking over the world. Next to him, Gin was putting toothpaste on an unconscious Wonderweiss's face. Yachiru was dislocating koi. Byakuya was having sex. With Shichi, for some incomprehensible reason. Kisuke was sleeping deeply next to Yoruichi, who was, in turn, sleeping deeply next to Kisuke. Ukitake and Shunsui...

"Say," he whispered towards the pink haired girl. "How is Ukitake?"

"He's fine," she said, quietly but cheerfully. "Tonight Shunsui's drinking with him. Nanao's finally accepted to have a drink with them. I'll see how it worked out when I get there."

Yes, accepting was good. It meant that he wasn't shocked and horrified that she confessed she was spying on everybody. This just was. If he wanted to keep a secret, he'd have to Yachiru-proof the area. That was all that it meant.

"Where is it nice to walk alone this time of night?" he asked.

"Around. There's passers on the streets, but they leave you alone. If you want to be alone-alone, you can go to the training grounds."

"Thanks."

"No problem!"

He went out, walked for maybe half an hour, returned to find Yachiru gone, returned to the bedroom and slipped between Kisuke and Yoruichi, daring his mind to find it symbolic. As he was about to fall asleep, finally exhausted enough, Kisuke started squirming slightly and making very light noises. It sounded like either moaning or humming or a half-hearted attempt to speak. He sounded as if he were arguing, or fighting. Wondering whether he should wake him, and how he should do it, Ichigo put a hand on the blonde's shoulder, intending to shake him gently. Before he could do that, the man jerked. Ichigo got closer, shook him. Two sleepy eyes opened to look at him in confusion.

"You're having a nightmare, idiot," Ichigo mumbled, feeling uncomfortable.

Kisuke shifted closer, buried his face in Ichigo's body and fell back completely asleep again, muttering something indistinguishable. Hesitatingly, the younger man draped his hand over the older, hugged him close. Then he, too, finally rested.

* * *

Kisuke woke up in the morning manhandling Ichigo. Detail: he woke up because of the young man's moaned reaction to being manhandled by a sleeping Kisuke who had, apparently, going by the way his mouth was still going at it from sheer inertia, been kissing and nibbling at his neck like a vampire in heat. The shopkeeper stopped abruptly, once his conscience returned. His rock-hard erection was caught painfully between their bodies.

"Ichigo?" he asked, tentatively.

"Is this where we pretend we don't really know each other and say we were drunk?"

The blond's head fell on Ichigo's shoulder. "Fuck." He rolled off, carefully. This was bad. This was a proof of how stressed and worn out he was, this was something that shouldn't be happening, something that had to be stopped.

"You're not bothered that I'm not Yoruichi, are you?" Kisuke looked up to see Ichigo's disturbed expression.

"I'm bothered that I woke up molesting you."

"...I'm not."

Ah, yes. He wouldn't see what the issue was. After all, one didn't jump to any weird conclusions when their declared lover was being sexual in the morning. "It's different. I was _engaging_ it."

"Somebody has to." Ichigo's hurt, uncertain voice made him feel even guiltier and more embarrassed. How do you go around explaining something like this?

"I was asleep. When I'm really stressed out I... Well, let's put it this way, I could have slept with you and not woken up." He paused. "I hate it when that happens." He tried to figure out a way to explain it, the strangeness of hearing Yoruichi comment cheerfully on the prowess he didn't remember displaying, or to hear her give him an earful for being too rough when he hadn't thought he'd been anything at all.

"So you don't remember how you got there?" Ichigo asked with some curiosity.

"...Sometimes I get told I skipped foreplay and can't remember the _play_."

Kisuke looked around. Yoruichi was gone. It was a pity, because he really could have used her support with this. It's not every day that you admit your body is acting weird at night under stress. "So you're sexsomniac," the young man said.

Sexsomniac, sexsomniac... It sounded like a good description. "...You _could_ call it that, I suppose." Just as he was about to start explaining himself, however, Ichigo spoke again.

"I _do_ call it that. It's a medical condition. Dad was reading about it the other day in a medical journal and saw it fit to inform me about it." Kisuke blinked. He hadn't known about anything like that. A _condition_? Well, then it could be solved, he supposed. He'd have to look for other people's observations on it and then—wait a second. Had Ichigo just mentioned his father had given him the article.

"..._Why_?"

"I assume he assumed you would molest me in all possible given ways." Ichigo smiled at him tentatively. 'It's alright', his body language said. 'I don't mind waking up like that.'

"And your father was right." He hated proving Isshin right when it came to things like this.

"I don't mind this once," Ichigo said, stretching towards him, grabbing him and attacking his neck and shoulders with more than a little vicious deliciousness, avoiding the problem of morning breath by not even posing it.

Kisuke felt himself getting into the mood fast. He responded with the same enthusiasm, trying to flip them so he would be on top, but Ichigo pinned him down and climbed on top himself. "No, you don't."

A jolt of fear passed through Kisuke and he had to fight with himself not to bolt. He wasn't ready for this. Not yet. He needed time, even if his body was fine, it remembered and he definitely, definitely wasn't up for this, not in Byakuya's house, not this morning, when it happened, they had to be somewhere very, very private and have all the time in the world and... "Please, Ichigo, don't."

The redhead leaned forward and held him down against the mattress. Kisuke fought his panic. "I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered. "I swear."

Kisuke closed his eyes and forced himself to trust Ichigo. "I never thought I'd say this, but I don't feel ready to-"

"Shush."

Ichigo slid down and the blond hoped that he would make no comments about him wanting this because he was hard, that would lead to a nightmare, because an erection didn't necessarily mean he wanted, or was ok with-

But Ichigo didn't hurt him. He was almost delicate in his gestures. "You're so tense," the young man said. "I'm sorry." And then he took Kisuke's cock in his mouth, as deep as he could, and sucked hard.

The older man gasped from surprise and pleasure and bucked before he could stop himself. His fear turned into delight as he realized that he was about to be treated. And by a delightful young man who'd never done such a thing before in his life. To think he'd entirely debauched the young man, popped every possible cherry!

Ichigo paused enough only to make sure everything was fine, then went on, a bit more lightly. Kisuke's right hand caught Ichigo's hair lightly and rose and came down at the same time with the head beneath it. His eyes were closed, but his left hand fingers slid down Ichigo's face, touching him, sensing the hollowed cheeks, the tenseness of concentration. He was, as it had become habit with him, a natural.

"You sure you've never done this before?" he asked, his fingers tightening in Ichigo's hair.

The young man rose away for a few spare seconds, to answer. "What the hell do you think?"

"That you're so good you should be _banned_."

Kisuke turned his head sideways and half-opened his eyes. He let out a moan and, seeing how Ichigo thrived on it, didn't bother holding back the others. He was generally all for offering encouragement, but Ichigo was earning every sound, every remark, everything. Bloody natural.

He pushed Ichigo down and saw him squirm and grab his own neglected cock, stroking it urgently. He hummed his own pleasure against Kisuke and the vibration made the older man lose his control and come with a cry of pleasure that he was sure would be heard rooms away. Ichigo followed shortly after and Kisuke dragged him up, depositing kisses all over his skin.

"You're amazing and a natural," the shopkeeper said, enthralled. "And I love you-uur fast learning. How was it?"

Ichigo laughed against his shoulder. "Well, you make it worthwhile," he said, stretching like a cat in the best of moods. "I feel great. And hungry."

Kisuke smiled at him. "Then let's eat and pretend somebody else was making all the noise, ne?"

Ichigo laughed again and went off to find his clothes. Kisuke did the same, happy and worried. Happy because he, too, felt great. And worried because he'd nearly slipped, even if Ichigo hadn't noticed, even if fast thinking had covered it. 'I love you'. What on earth had his mouth meant by trying to say that? Had it meant it? Because if it did, then there was only one solution to this situation they were in.

"Ichigo," the blond said. "I think I'll have to stay for awhile in Soul Society and see if I can somehow both do whatever duties here and spend time in the real world." Ichigo turned towards him, the laughter gone from his eyes. "But somehow I'll manage to still be close to you."

* * *

**AN: **That's all for now, folks! Merry Christmas! Happy holidays! Don't forget to review as a Christmas present ;)


	16. Ending the Trial

**Disclaimer: **I'm quite certain that Tite Kubo plans in advance about as much as I do (which isn't much), but we're not the same person and he still owns Bleach.

**AN: **Wow. What an intense... time. Dunno what else to call it. Took some exams, still waiting for one result, went to see how a doctor becomes a doctor (ph.D. doctor, not the medical kind) and was blown over by an awesome dissertation on trauma in biographical graphic narratives. Sorry about the wait. I give up on ever thinking I am a fast updater.

**Special Announcement: **Inspired by the brilliant dracoqueen22, whose works you must read if you haven't yet ("The Beautiful Lie" is my current favorite), I am now holding a weekly flash fic request event on Friday. Well, when I say 'weekly', it actually means 'I want it to be weekly and I'm trying to make it so'. I'm taking requests on my journal, which is on my deviantArt account. You can get to it by clicking 'Homepage' on my profile page here. That said, on to the chapter!

**Chapter 15: Ending the Trial**

Ichigo was in a decidedly good mood. His revelation the previous night, a warm bed and giving the first blowjob of his life in the morning had made sure of that. Sure, he'd been a bit worried to see Kisuke freak out for a short time there, but after that it had all gone smoothly. He'd enjoyed the feeling of being in control, of _causing_ all the pleasure while he himself was free, basking in the blond's reactions. He'd loved the moaning and the words and the play, the fluttering of the man's eyelids, the soft, broken cries. However, the best part was probably Kisuke's expression as he'd realized just what Ichigo was about to do to him.

The young man thought that he didn't mind the feeling of it as much as he'd thought he would. Using his mouth for purposes that he wouldn't want his father to know about – but which Ichigo was under no illusion his father _didn't_ know about - was strangely pleasant. There had been no great taste to bother him when he'd started, despite whatever expectations he'd built up, and that little had been washed away as he'd gone on. And at the end, well... He could live with it.

The two of them were heading towards breakfast, not really remembering where the breakfast room was supposed to be, but guiding themselves by the greatest source of reiatsu. While Ichigo was in no way a specialist in detecting it, he was still aware enough of quantities to know they were heading in the right direction.

It all felt so normal, as if they'd done this a hundred times before, as if they'd been together since forever. Mind you, some of the events _had_ seemed to drag on endlessly, but there was a comfort between the two of them that the redhead thought you weren't supposed to experience until later, or so. Not that he had anything to judge by.

Ichigo got a sudden idea, spontaneously stopped walking and turned towards a bewildered Kisuke. He grabbed the older man, pushed him against a wall and slammed their lips together. The blond chuckled, dragged his teeth across the younger man's tongue teasingly, then pulled back.

"You're very enthusiastic this morning, Ichigo-san," he said with no little amusement.

"There you go, being polite to me again."

"I can't help it." Nibble on the neck. "You're quite worthy of my admiration."

"You're not that bad yourself, pervert."

Their lips met briefly again, then they parted, making their way further through the house, following what Ichigo termed to himself 'the yellow reiatsu road', although it wasn't yellow. Finally, they reached their destination and were about to enter whatever room it was that was calling them like a beacon through the night, when they overheard the conversation inside. It wasn't difficult to. Anybody halfway across the world could hear it, if they weren't entirely deaf.

"You're just _biased_ because of the chemistry between us," Shichi cried with no little frustration. "You simply can't get it into your head that _feelings. Aren't. Everything_."

Ichigo froze in place. If Yachiru had been correct the previous night, and she probably was, then this could be messy. If he wasn't much mistaken, Byakuya was in there and any talk that sounded like _that_ was probably not a good idea to intrude upon. Especially with Shichi doing the screaming and raging. He grabbed Kisuke's elbow, signaling that they should go.

"I'm not worried about fights," the blond said with a shrug. "Maybe we can fix it."

"W-wait. Maybe we really, _really_, don't want to find out what it's about." It wasn't his duty to protect the noble's unguarded secrets, but since he knew about things anyway, he might as well lend a subtle hand.

As if on cue, Byakuya's voice resounded from inside, much calmer and deeper, but still very clear. "Shichi. Please calm down."

"Calm _down_? Like _damned_ I will, when this absolute _rag_ of a woman is playing foul..."

Ichigo felt himself pale. This was precisely what they needed. _Another _love triangle, involving the ice prince, the bitch queen and... And...

Who could the other woman be, the young man asked himself with no little confusion. After all, Byakuya had been single before, right? How quick can somebody who had been abstinent for _years_ get into a relationship mess, anyway?... Kisuke, Yoruichi and himself, that was maybe to be expected. Wives, husbands and lovers, yeah. But no-sex to all-sex? Just not possible. Or was it?

Kisuke pulled at Ichigo's elbow. "Really, there's no reason to be this worried," the shopkeeper said as Shichi cried out some increasingly creative insults against an as yet unknown woman. "After all, what's a little scuffle after all the hollows?"

"It's not the scuffle, it's the... _mess_." Ichigo just couldn't piece things together properly. Something was wrong with this picture. If anybody would be cheating in this short time, it wouldn't be Byakuya. It'd be Shichi. With a woman?...

"Well, then, we should stop it before it blows up," Kisuke said.

"You mean it hasn't already?"

Kisuke bodily manhandled him towards the door, resolved to get the younger man in the room, saying something that may or may not have been 'humbug', although Ichigo couldn't be sure, since who on earth said 'humbug', anyway?

"You _castrateable_ cat of no good tramping!" Shichi howled on. "You biased, _childish_..."

That got Ichigo's attention so hard that between his suddenly unmoving feet and Kisuke's manhandling, he nearly tripped to the ground. Cat? Shichi had said _cat_ - and Yoruichi hadn't been in bed that morning.

But before he could consider that more thoroughly, he was in through the door. And there, right before them, stood five people. Byakuya, sitting, looking annoyed in his cool, stoic fashion. Rukia, next to him, was embarrassed and worried. Yoruichi and Shichi were facing off in the middle of the room. A young man who looked vaguely familiar was leaning against a pillar, watching everything with interest. It was Yoruichi's turn to shout.

"As if you were much better, _werewolf!_ You won't even listen to what I have to say before you accuse me of _specism! _Your head is so stuck up your ass it's coming out through your throat!"

"Good one," the unknown young man chuckled.

"Shut up!" both women screamed at him at the same time.

It took Ichigo a few seconds to realize that he wasn't witnessing a love triangle. It was something entirely different, which was one of those things that yet again didn't concern him and which had probably passed him by entirely, since he couldn't figure out what it was about. While he was busy studying faces and mentally replaying the conversation so far, the two women got into a half-literal cat fight. Yoruichi had turned into her furry self and jumped out of her clothes, probably feeling she had to prove something through her animal form. Shichi, to Ichigo's surprise, took this very badly and cried out a sort of battle cry, also transforming and becoming a brown-furred huge wolf. As if the young man wasn't confused enough.

"You _bitch_," Shichi growled.

"No, _you_ bitch. Me cat," Yoruichi replied with malicious sarcasm. "Cat got your good, dirty tongue?" She lunged forward, claws extended.

"By the time I'm done with you, there won't be _one_ life left in your body!"

"Oooh, I'm so evil I'll just have to _kick a puppy_."

Ichigo could only stare at the display. A wolf and a cat. Were_wolf_, were_cat_. He hadn't expected it, but somehow it all made so much more sense now. And in the upturned world that the universe he currently lived in was, it didn't really surprise him. So, a part of him said, this was where Yoruichi's resentment towards the other woman came from. Biology.

"Note to self," Kisuke muttered. "Animal shapes lead to live-action cartoons, complete with the according corny dialogue." He then cleared his throat, saying loudly, "ladies, please!"

"Out!" the two women snarled at him in unison. Ichigo had half-expected them to protest that they weren't ladies, but they apparently had no problem whatsoever considering themselves such despite the blatant evidence to the contrary.

"Can all shinigami do that?" the unnamed youth asked, grinning. "It looks cool."

"The insults, yes, the animal shapes, no," Rukia said, biting her lower lip worriedly. Ichigo thought she looked cute when she did that. But Shichi looked as rough and snarly as she usually felt now and she took up most of his attention.

"Thankfully," Byakuya added.

Ichigo watched the two women fight. They were both slightly awkward, as if they were unaccustomed to fight in these forms, but were trying to pretend that they were. They seemed to not want to hurt each other, but to appear to desire to do so. With the actual intention of proving that they were cooler as wolf or cat than the other was as cat or as wolf. Which was a long thought to express, but the redhead felt that it was the only one close enough to what they were having there.

"Had you known about Shichi being a werewolf?" Ichigo asked conversationally while the two switched to meowing and growling for emphasis. Yoruichi went for Shichi's nose with extended claws. The werewolf pulled back and bared her teeth, then jumped towards the cat, jaw opened.

"Yes," Kisuke replied at the same time in which Byakuya and Rukia answered "no".

Yoruichi took a hit in the side and flew through the air, managing to land on her feet close to a wall. Shichi didn't press the advantage, but the two took the opportunity for a breather.

"How dare you?" Shichi asked. "How _dare_ you try and sway Byakuya not to accept my suggestion? How dare you _interfere_?"

"He's adopted Rukia already and doesn't want any other strays." Yoruichi looked much more mad than Ichigo had ever seen her. The hair on her back stood up.

"I don't suppose I get a say in this?" Byakuya said coolly.

"I don't really want to be a part of a clan, Shichi-nee-san," the young man said, apparently deciding that Byakuya's question gave an opening for his own input. "There's too much hubbub."

Both men were ignored. Kisuke sat and pulled Ichigo's sleeve to get him to do the same. "It might take awhile. They get along like a cat and a dog, pardon the pun."

"_Not_ pardoning it, Kisuke."

But the two women proceeded to cause such a racket as to distract everybody from adding anything else. There was snarling and meowing and a flurry of claws and teeth and slipping around on the shiny floor. Eventually, when they stopped for another breather, Yoruichi took the verbal offensive. "You never listen to what I say!"

"Now isn't that a female excuse?"

"Byakuya shouldn't adopt the boy, there's too much trouble with the Kuchiki clan if he does it."

"Why don't you let Byakuya decide about _that_?"

"Good point," the noble said, but was ignored. After all, he would only get to decide what one of them said and it was the two women who would decide who did the saying.

"The kid doesn't even _want_ to be a Kuchiki. They're formalists. He doesn't want that."

"You and your _chemistry_, Yoruichi, you simply can't allow a good thing to happen because of this _grudge_ that you seem to be unable to-"

Yoruichi let out a frustrated meow and hiss. "Sick of this! Let _me _adopt him."

It pretty much confused Ichigo to hear that, but he settled for just observing everybody's faces. Kisuke's eyebrows had disappeared entirely under his hat, Rukia frowned, the unnamed young man shrugged and Byakuya blinked. Shichi, on the other hand, stopped short in much more shock than the others put together. The two women remained facing each other, still ready to jump, but much more reluctantly, waiting to see what happened next.

"He's got the power," Yoruichi said. "He can be a werewolf, like you. And he's cool and relaxed and probably lazy, the way I look at him, even if he looks talented. The Kuchikis would hate him, but he'd fit right in in my own clan."

Shichi returned to her human shape. Entirely naked, of course, which nearly made the young man's eyes pop out of his head. Before propriety kicked in, Ichigo noticed that she was good-looking. He could understand why Byakuya would be attracted. A second later, however, he realized he was staring, so he averted his eyes as casually as possible. She grabbed some clothes and hastily got dressed, not that the damage wasn't done already. Yoruichi took the opportunity to change back, too, seeing that there was no more cat fighting to be done. But being who she was, she didn't bother remembering an insignificant, constricting detail like wearing anything. Kisuke jumped up and threw his coat on her with the practiced gesture of somebody who has spent a century close to a person who runs around naked through the house, flashing guests.

It all took only a few seconds.

"Holy shit!" the unknown young man cried and was about to comment more when he met Ichigo's eyes across the room and wisely shut up. Between them, the two women were still stuck in their own one-on-one world.

"Fine," Shichi finally said. "Done deal."

Yoruichi smiled sarcastically. She chose to say a single word. "Good."

"Good," the other were repeated.

"Good."

"_Good_."

"It's all _fine_, let's get to breakfast already," Kisuke said, then turned to the young man. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Can't remember my name. You can call me Kiba, though." The young man grinned and demonstratively waved at them a fang he had on a string around his neck. Kiba._ Fang_. Well, if he found that on himself as a ghost, it was a cool name to have. But there was something more to it, something that tickled Ichigo's memory.

"Breakfast!" Kisuke said. "Somebody point us in the right direction!"

On their way to breakfast, Ichigo pondered on that familiarity. Kiba. Fangs. Werewolf. Why did that sound so familiar? It definitely rang a very clear bell, something recent, something clear. Laid back attitude, strength, wolves... Brown hair. Somebody had mentioned... But then...

As they finally reached the breakfast table and took their places, Ichigo's memory flared. There had been an espada, a guy who fit that description. He had a mental image of the man taking Orihime away from right in front himself and Kenpachi. Later, somebody had mentioned guns and a pack of wolves in connection to him. Starrk, the first espada. But surely it couldn't be he! They would know. And besides, the young man had no mask. And he was dead, too, killed in the battle against Aizen. And where, his mind asked, did dead hollows go when purified by a shinigami's blade, but to Soul Society?

Ichigo raised his eyes to look at Kiba more closely. The young man was eating cheerfully and fast, saying something to Shichi. So. Starrk was back. It really took all the bite and tragedy out of death. Or not, seeing that Kiba was not _exactly_ Starrk, but a version of the espada that he had lost his memories and probably his powers. And who wasn't a hollow anymore. But it still wasn't all that bad, seeing that he was alike enough for Ichigo to recognize him, seeing that he was well and talented and ready for a happier life. Or maybe it was just good luck for him to do so well. Or good karma.

It was something to think about.

And how did he end up under Shichi's protection, anyway?

/

The trial was long, pointless, boring, repetitive, annoying and vengefully pointless. It was clear to everybody within the first half an hour that the matter had pretty much been settled the day before. All that was left to do now was to cope with the idea that there would just _have_ to be a fuku-soutaichou and that Urahara would be that man. Especially since he had declared during the first five minutes that he would be willing to comply with Shichi's plan, since it made sense to him. It was also clear from the very first three quarters of an hour that the only reason that the trial went on for the further hours from eleven thirty AM to nine PM was so the Central could mope and complain and bitch about it.

Ichigo spent the time staring ahead and trying to meditate with his eyes opened. He contacted his inner Hollow, who suggested mass murder as a general solution to the problem. It made Aizen sound justifiable, indeed. In the end, Ichigo had a fascinating conversation with the darkest, or whitest, part of himself concerning wielding weapons, inner strength and stuff that would be fun to do in bed. It was astonishing to see how easily one made friends with a psychotic aspect of oneself when confronted with the Central 46. It was a journey of self-knowledge driven forward, as usual, by desperation and the sheer will to survive.

By the time it ended and Ichigo was wondering whether calling the meditation/talk he'd had 'psychotic analysis' would be correct, nobody was happy. Not even the bitchy high command of Soul Society that had made it drag on for so long without even a lunch break. People shuffled out of the court room without even the energy to be cheerful to have gotten away. It was all about dragged feet, quiet groans, slumped shoulders. Even Byakuya seemed to be a dusted version of himself.

Dinner at the Kuchiki mansion was therefore a hungry, tired, nearly speechless affair. Yoruichi had slipped out of the courtroom early, claiming something flimsy, but she wasn't there now. A servant told them that she and Kiba had left to spend the night on the Shihouin estates somewhere, hoping to get the adoption papers done the next day as soon as possible. Also, there were probably talks to be had, things to be settled.

Ichigo didn't care right now. He just ate, fast, much, uncaring, wishing it was all over with. He desperately needed to relax mentally after the ordeal. Maybe a walk would be in order. Maybe running around. Something, anything, to make his mind feel less clogged. The sushi tasted like rubber to him now, the rice like dust. There was probably nothing wrong with the food, but his brain was damaged enough to malfunction for awhile. Byakuya, while never breaking away from his usual elegance, was apparently thinking along the same lines, the chopsticks moving quickly and with an economy of effort from dish to mouth, no pleasure evident from eating. Just another duty. Rukia, on the other hand, looked bored with eating after awhile. She played around with her food, not even looking around. Kisuke munched slowly, with a depressed air about him. Shichi was staring at the wall, lost in a parallel dimension, probably and slurping up the sixth bowl of soup. Ichigo wondered if she even knew what she was having or why she was having it.

"I'm off for a sec," she said dreamily, getting up from her empty bowl and leaving as if in a daze.

"Law systems," Kisuke said, watching her go. "They kill you even when you win. I think I prefer hollows, thank you very much."

"Seconded," Ichigo said.

"Thirded," Rukia added.

"Hmm," Byakuya fourthed.

Nothing of interest happened during the rest of dinner. When they got up, Byakuya disappeared so fast that he may as well have used shunpo. Rukia caught Ichigo's eye. The redhead waved Kisuke forward, saying that he would follow him shortly. He looked at her and tried to muster a smile.

"Hey," he said, for a lack of anything better to start with.

"Hey."

She shifted uncomfortably. After that long in the weary trial, he felt that just being silent with somebody was something he could do forever effortlessly, so he just watched her, waiting for her to say whatever she wanted to say. She was pretty, with her large eyes and perky attitude. It made him happy just to see her, to be with her.

"I'm sorry."

The words surprised him. "About?"

She shrugged. "The trial. Everything. That he'll have to come stay here and won't be in the real world. Assuming that you wanted him there."

Ichigo wondered if this was an 'I want you to be happy' of the same sort he'd say to her, would the situation be reversed. It made him smile. "I'd have enjoyed it, yes. But don't worry too much. Moving between worlds was never too much of an issue. For people who could open the pathway, I mean. I'll have to learn how to do that."

"Oh." She pulled at a sleeve, hesitated, then suddenly jumped on him and embraced him tightly. He hugged her back, wondering what had brought it on. Her perfume enveloped him, delicate and subtle. Her arms were warm and a pleasure to feel around himself. His chin unconsciously buried itself into her hair.

"Hey, I don't break easily. I'm fine, I promise," Ichigo muttered.

"Idiot." She smacked him with a palm. "I'm hugging you because we don't have time to talk. This is supposed to be a faster way to communicate, although we're apparently doing it at cross purposes."

"Oh."

They remained embraced for a few long, comfortable minutes.

/

Kisuke felt restless and confused. The trial hadn't helped matters at all, only making him feel caged. He'd entered the bedroom, seen that Yoruichi still wasn't there, guessed correctly that she wouldn't come back that night, so he was free to do whatever he wanted, turned on the lights, tried to lie down, to go to sleep, got up, and started pacing. He wanted to get undressed and go to bed, but then again he didn't. He wanted to lie down, he wanted to pace, he wanted to take a bath and to remain dry. He wanted to have sex and then he wanted to run. All at the same time, if possible. There was a turmoil inside him, coated by lava, covered in cold sweat. He wanted a bath. As impulses went, he was definitely having too many of them at the same time.

It was done, then, his life being turned over. Too shortly, too simply. In hindsight, it was almost as if he had been swept away by some sort of immutable fate, one convenient happening after another, pushing him closer and closer towards an inevitable destiny that he never saw coming.

Captain of the fifth, of all divisions. Taking Aizen's place. Fuku-soutaichou. Catapulted back into Seireitei, with all its madness. He didn't have a life here. He hadn't had a life here for a hundred years. He had few acquaintances, no friends, his lovers would be away. He didn't like the company, or the style and his only memories were either nostalgia-colored, with the sentiment of being unable to be recovered attached, or unpleasant. Work, work, work where he wasn't welcomed. For the sake of a person whom he had barely gotten to know, now that he actually thought about it. For a young man whom he didn't even have the time to taste properly. It didn't bother him that he had yet to unravel the mystery of the young man – unraveling mysteries was a favorite pastime, after all. But there was no time to do that now. Giving up Ichigo, a person who'd need him to survive, for the sake of Ichigo, who was off with Rukia, a person the redhead actually _was_ in love with.

Kisuke arranged the bedding, then paced, then fumbled with the pillows some more. The light was dim and that was the only thing that suited him. The bedding was too silky, the floor too hard. He was being picky and he knew it. That, and restless.

He didn't want an Ichigo who would _need_ to be with him, no matter how nicely he'd act about it. Even if he would go back to the real world now, the young man would still be in love with Rukia, and it didn't bother Kisuke that much to know that – it was just that, out of the two of them, it was he, not her, who deserved more time and a fighting chance. Maybe he'd earned that. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe the universe just didn't give a damn about what anybody earned, morally speaking. Things just _were_.

Despair, he thought as he started pacing again. He was cornered like an animal, willingly stepping into a cage. He didn't want this. He didn't want the work, the responsibility, the power, any of it. He already had his ideal life. This was just going back to something he already knew, something displeasing and tedious and difficult and that went on day after day, wearing one out, burning their spirit. He was...

He was panicking.

Ichigo chose that moment to come in and the shopkeeper turned around, his heart rising in his throat.

"Kisuke?" Ichigo asked, seeing the older man's fear before the mask could slide into place.

"I'm fine," the blond answered, recovering and trying feebly to smile. "Just worried."

"That wasn't worry."

The blond felt every conflicting feeling rise in him. He wanted all that he'd wanted before, and more, and there was not enough time left. His mind chose one single way, one single action that would help him escape, just for a second. It chose one thing to concentrate on as if it were a lifeline. He wanted, he desired, he needed. Kisuke grabbed the younger man and pulled the both of them down on the futons before Ichigo could gather his thoughts and ask another question. He kissed him forcefully, desperately, letting his hands roam. Why did this happen? Why couldn't the world at least pretend to let him be happy for once? He tugged at Ichigo's clothes, opening them, attacking the younger man's neck with lips and tongue, loving the groan he got as a reply. He'd solve this and then they'd both be free. Until then, he could still, he _dared_ still impose himself like this. He'd be selfish, dammit. He'd _take _and _have _and it would be...

"So much like the first time."

The whispered words brought him to a halt. Yes. So much like that first time, when he'd just selfishly enjoyed, without any other thought. Just as frantic. Just as desperate. Treating Ichigo just as much as if he were a possession. He looked into the redhead's eyes and pulled back, slowly, worried. "I'm sorry." And he was, he really was. The frenzy had receded fast, leaving remorse in its wake.

"I didn't tell you to stop, did I?"

"I'm so sorry." Kisuke pulled Ichigo's clothes back awkwardly. "You deserve better than this."

"I don't mind what I'm getting. If you need me, Ki..."

"Dammit." The swear word escaped him, surprising both of them. Ichigo was lying on his back, his clothing askew, but not seeming too mad. Kisuke shifted, then forced himself to lie down half-hugging the younger man tightly against himself, deciding that nothing would happen that night, unless Ichigo asked for it. He wouldn't take advantage, he wouldn't force. He wouldn't be that sort of a bastard, no matter that Ichigo was saying 'yes' even to this side of him. "I'm a brute at times. My desires get the better of me, they cloud my mind, obscure my judgment and make me do things I shouldn't." He recited this as if it were a speech he'd learned by heart, feeling himself speak, but not really letting it register, lest he become afraid and stop.

"I'm willing."

"That's not the point. I don't want to hurt you. I want to bring you pleasure. Just like the first time. It shouldn't have been like that, I... Ichigo, I..." He wanted to say it. To explain just how much of a dirty man he really was. How low and despicable, behind the mask. If Ichigo had told him to stop, he would have, he wasn't _that_ sort of a monster. But he was close enough, Kisuke felt. Too close for there to be an excuse for it. Anything that went on through his head at that time couldn't possibly justify this, this mad conquest that would go on as long as there was nothing to stop it. What was next, then? Gagging the young man to pretend he couldn't tell what he was thinking? What he didn't want? What he shouldn't want?

"You love me," Ichigo said.

The sentence, in its simplicity and naturalness, took him by surprise. His limbs locked around his lover, his heart skipped a beat in his chest. Pain and fear and confusion. "Ichigo..." And then he didn't know how to continue.

"I'm sorry," the redhead said at last. "I know I should have let you say it."

His mind started to calculate, put on automatic. Either Ichigo really believed that love to exist, or he didn't. The first being the most complicated option, Kisuke's inner scientist took the second option for analysis first. Testing of waters? Maybe. Mockery? Possible, but unlikely, since the tone didn't fit. Attempt to end the conversation through a statement out of the context? No.

Kisuke stopped himself. That way madness lay. "I wasn't about to say it."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"If I loved you... Love isn't like that. I'd control myself. Do you want me to say that I love you? Do you want me to feel it? Ichigo, I..." Another long, uncomfortable pause, in which neither knew what to say. Kisuke had effectively started that sentence and while that wouldn't be a problem in a normal conversation, it could be one now. He couldn't back down, he couldn't leave it hanging, now that Ichigo was blushing so hard and apparently trying to disappear by sheer force of will. Did he love Ichigo? Did he want to say such a thing? He wasn't certain himself. He'd almost said it that very morning, but did he really, truly believe it? Was he ready to burden Ichigo with the knowledge that the blond next to him wanted him? "I might," he finally whispered. "But I don't want you to worry about that." He kissed Ichigo's hair lightly. "It doesn't mean anything." The young man had this tendency to do things for people who believed in him, this madness to please everyone. Well, Kisuke wouldn't let him. He wouldn't allow himself to take advantage of that tendency. He wouldn't let Ichigo give up anything for a foolish, perverted shopkeeper who was about to lose his shop and be thrown into being something else entirely. "Whether I... care for you a bit too much or not, it doesn't change anything. You are free." He said it again, to remind himself as much as he reminded Ichigo. "You are _free_."

But Ichigo didn't seem to get the point. He sighed and placed his forehead against Kisuke. "I care about you, you know. I didn't think about you this way before. I like the way you are underneath that silly mask."

"Don't."

"I appreciate you and I'm attracted to you. I didn't expect this to happen."

"Please, _don't_." He could take the fact that the younger man didn't love him, but he couldn't take lying. Most of all, he couldn't stand the thought that Ichigo should start lying to himself.

"I didn't think when you blackmailed me that anything good could come of it. But I don't mind what happened. I like being with you."

"Don't just say that, Ichigo."

"I'm not. I mean it. I could have said it at any point for the last... well, the last few days. It seems like so much longer. As if it's already been a lifetime since we've been together. A century in Byakuya's house." Ichigo licked his lips. "I mean it. I don't know what it's _meaning _is, but I _mean_ it. Does that make sense?"

No lies? No lies. Could Ichigo be honest? He could. Kisuke felt a bout of selfish happiness to hear it. He knew that it wasn't a sane relationship, that what the younger man was feeling was something that psychologists would love to dissect, but right now he wanted to clench his fists with joy and cry out in his mind that there was something that went right in the world.

Dear gods, he realized. He did have it bad. And the kid had gotten it probably before he had.

Kisuke nuzzled Ichigo's neck, hiding his face away from the younger man, uncertain whether his mask was safely in place.

"If nothing depended upon this relationship, but Rukia would accept it, would you still be here with me?" he whispered, feeling like a stupid schoolboy.

Ichigo snorted. "So much romance, Kisuke."

"I know where I stand." The shopkeeper was hit by how pathetic he was right now.

"Yes. I would still be here."

"That's more than enough to make me happy." Kisuke nuzzled his lover's neck with a mixed feeling of guilt, happiness and of being pathetic. "I'm sorry about the violence."

"What violence?"

"Your first time. My gestures right now. It won't happen again. If it ever seems to, stop me. Don't let me..."

Ichigo got up on an elbow, staring down intensely at the blond. "You weren't violent."

"I know what I am." Selfish. Perverted. Disgusting. Taking advantage of a kid he'd seduced. Self-sacrificing, too, maybe, but weak and pitiful. Violent, giving in to his baser instincts, to his desires and-

"No. No, you don't," Ichigo cut over his inner monologue. "You have this bad opinion of yourself, but you aren't violent or whatever. I can't believe you don't know this, but you're very tender. Even the first time. Sure, it was frantic, but it was _good _and still gentle. I've been fighting for awhile, I know what harshness means, so don't even try to explain it to me. You weren't it."

"I'm selfish and a-"

"I don't give a damn. Fuck if I know what came over you, then and now, but I wasn't _hurt_. You aren't _hurting _me. Is that what you thought? Fuck, was it?" Kisuke put his usual mask on, but it felt so fake that he dropped it. Ichigo frowned at him. "I was happy. Before my first time, I thought sex was all about orgasms. Then I realized it wasn't."

Kisuke shifted uncomfortably. "Ichigo, that's not-"

"I don't mean I don't like that part. I like the pleasure. And your pleasure, too. But then I realized that sleeping with someone was a lot like fighting, but way more intense."

The blond felt as if somebody had thrown a bucket of cold ice over him and even if he couldn't figure out how on earth he'd managed to fuck up the young man that badly, this was horrifying, this was worse than he'd have imagined. "Ichigo, no! It's not supposed to-"

"Shut up." Ichigo punched his shoulder lightly, finally annoyed. "I was talking. So, it _is_ like fighting. Not like whatever just went through your head. I mean, you touch and suddenly there's not just skin there, but the entire person. You feel and it's not just a body, not just something that's up there against you, it's somebody with a huge world inside that you can suddenly sense. I can feel who my enemy is when I battle them. And I could feel you very, very much every time we slept together. I know what you were feeling. I know who you are. I can sense you, I can taste you, I can understand you. Fuck, Kisuke, I was so overcome by you and your world, I almost drowned in it. I forgot I had a _body_, do you get me? You were so desperate and so afraid, you were in denial, in lust, you were dark and mysterious and gentle and tender and a whole bunch of other things, and wonderful to top it all off, that I didn't give a damn that I didn't get to come. I forgot I was supposed to. Not _violent_, Kisuke. It's not _violence_ I'm getting from you. It's pain. _Your _pain."

Kisuke could only stare. Ichigo was almost mad now, he looked as intense and frantic as he himself felt. And beautiful. Pain? Now that it was thrown at him, he could see it. Maybe he'd seen it before, too, but not really understood it. Who was this young man, then, to read him like that? "You're definitely something."

"Would that something be a monster? If yes, I've been told. I'm a monster, too. So stop being so _guilty_, we're both in this. It's not just _you _doing stuff to _me_ – I'm here, too. I'm _reacting_ to you and I have my say in it. Sure, I have fuck clue what I'm doing and most of the time I feel I don't know a damn thing, but I'm learning and I'm not somebody whom you can hurt without _really_ trying. Get that?"

Before Kisuke could answer, Ichigo pushed him against the bed and kissed him furiously, pining one of his shoulders to the futon, taking control, letting his reiatsu flare around the two of them. One of the younger man's hands grabbed at the blond's clothes, pulling them apart, bearing Kisuke's chest, which then allowed him to bite it randomly, leaving red marks on the skin. It burned to feel him like that, in his full strength made manifest.

"Ichigo..."

"Am I hurting you?"

"N-no."

"Then shut up."

Teeth and lips and tongue everywhere on his body, nails dragging on his skin, hands caressing, a flurry of movement that was all the more overpowering for being so unexpected. Ichigo got up just enough to remove his own clothes and throw them away, then returned to Kisuke and flipped them over, so he was under the blond. The young man had a glint of steel in his eyes, a wild determination, a passion that were usually reserved for battles. He was intoxicating like the subtlest perfume, like a spring breeze, like moonlight.

"I don't think you'd take kindly to the way I'd take you right now," Ichigo said. "So you do it. Any way you want."

He rose to suck on Kisuke's neck while the older man attempted more or less gracefully to remove his clothes. Once he finally escaped from the confinements, the blond focused on his lover, who couldn't have spelled out a more enthusiastic invitation to just let go. And, for once, he resolved to give in without restraint or remorse: he could nearly taste the fire in Ichigo's reiatsu, he could feel a strength as great as his own facing him - the entire being of the younger man cried out challenge, defiance and not a resignation to his fate, but a jump to face it.

Kisuke could definitely work with that, and he did. He attacked Ichigo's shoulders with not very tender bites, making the younger man squirm and gasp. A hand entangled itself between blond strands of hair. Kisuke found himself pushed roughly towards the neck and was glad to nibble, suck and work away at it in any way that occurred to him until a bruise was clearly forming. Then he captured Ichigo's lips again and found himself pulled down by eager, strong hands in a demand to be rougher.

"You don't," Kisuke rasped, "have to do this," nibble, "just to please me."

"Maybe I like it." Unfairly enough, Ichigo was more composed than he was. "Maybe I wanna see..." though not _much_ more composed "...how it is this way."

Kisuke searched almost desperately for the bottle he kept in one of his pockets, found it, and used its contents to prepare a willing, writhing, wonderful young man. Ichigo was wildly manifesting his sensations, his entire body moving like liquid against Kisuke's own. The blond knew that he had more than an inkling of what he was doing to his older lover if one was to judge by the grin and self-satisfied, enraptured expression that were somehow.

"You're loving this."

"Yes. Take me."

Kisuke couldn't very well ignore that, could he? He did as he was bidden and soon he found himself enveloped in Ichigo, who had entangled his hand in Kisuke's hair again with a very possessive gesture. "When did you turn so sexy?" he murmured, both to give him time to adjust and because this was truly spectacular.

"I learn fast, remember?"

Too fast. The low voice, the seductive tones, the dark lust in his eyes... Kisuke felt that he was losing himself, moving instinctively, erratically. He wanted more of Ichigo, more of what was before him, he wanted to devour the younger man whole, now that he _could_.

Fingers dug into his back, legs twisted around his own. Ichigo bucked against him, grinding his hips against the older man, mewling with passion. Kisuke had no resolve left, anyway, so there was nothing left to lose. Their moves were far from rhythmic, but they were fast and hard and filled with so much desire that their reiatsu flared with it, unrestrained, not that they cared. Helped by Kisuke's skilled hand, Ichigo reached his peak first, lifting almost entirely up against the blond, his entire body tense, locked with pleasure. He gave out a loud cry and circled his arms around Kisuke, hanging on to him as if he were a lifeline. The man followed soon after, his entire world seeming to go dark, his ears pounding. He felt as if he'd run as far as this point and now he was jumping high, lifting off from the ground and flying with sheer pleasure. Every cell of his body felt as if it were bursting, exploding, dying, being reborn. They remained unmoving while the feeling raged in them, burning, hot, intense, empowering, feeling each other's bodies still, each other's essences flaring.

When sensations finally started to return to them, they managed to let go. Kisuke collapsed on the futon, gasping for air that he hadn't needed until that point. Ichigo was breathing hard, his chest still arched with the last remaining waves of pleasure.

"Wow," Ichigo breathed out in a pant.

"Whoa..."

"That was... so _good_."

Kisuke chuckled. He was still floating, still high. And it had been so much better than just 'good'. He pulled the younger man closer, dragging his body over the blond's own. There was a silence in which they slowly pulled themselves together, drawing their reiatsu closer to their bodies. It occurred to the older man that there was probably not one single person in the Kuchiki mansion who didn't have the sensing abilities to understand what they'd done and how they'd done it, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Let them gossip. It would only help their case.

Ichigo pulled a blanket over them.

"I have a theory," Kisuke said.

Ichigo's mouth dropped open. "Already? You can still _think_?"

"Yes. Your... manifestation just now. I think I know why it happened."

Ichigo gave him a _look_. "Dear gods. It must be horrible to be you, thinking all the time."

"Here it is: you are in control of your hollow side. Now, that side it basically composed of your primary instincts, of your basic desires, killer intent, all sorts of things that are generally part of the unconscious and the destructive side of you. By mastering it, you master those sides of the personality which are generally related to this sort of play. Hence, you become darkly sexy."

"Jeez, Kisuke."

"No, but hear me out..."

"I didn't say you weren't right." Ichigo's lips brushed against Kisuke's and he flicked his tongue out to taste them. "I'm just saying you're impossible. Do you think anybody heard us?"

"Heard us? Don't know. Maybe. There isn't anybody on a five-mile radius, however, who hasn't _sensed_ us, I believe."

Ichigo groaned. "We've just put on a show, right?"

"More like announced ourselves from rooftops, rather than putting on a show, but yes. Don't worry. People tend to be quite, ah, discreet about this sort of thing. Although 'discreet' might not be the best word for it. They'll be too embarrassed tomorrow to mention it."

"And we've sort of lost privacy what with the videos."

"That, too."

Ichigo pecked Kisuke's lips. "You still think too fast."

"What? The idea came to me right a second ago. It's not as if I were _considering _anything carefully while we were..." He couldn't find an appropriate word for once.

"You're creepy. But maybe right. I've spent a good few hours talking to my inner hollow and fantasizing about you. He had pointers."

Kisuke blinked. "You were fantasizing about me during the trial? And sharing impressions with your hollow?"

"With myself, mostly. I'm starting to feel as if he really were a part of me. It's weird, but somehow natural. I feel as if there's all sorts of things I could know which are just out of my reach."

"I don't know much about hollows. I never got a chance to study them."

"Maybe I'll let you study _me_."

"You make it sound so seductive. Why, when I have the time..." As soon as he said that, Kisuke felt a renewed pang of emptiness. He would have to stay and Ichigo would have to leave. And even if he planned on returning to the real world quite often, even if he planned to create a better way to link the real world with the shinigami world for Ichigo to be able to visit more easily, there was still the fact that his life was going to become much busier and much more difficult soon. His hand tangled itself into the younger man's locks on its own accord and he drew the redhead into a deep kiss, cutting himself off.

When they'd have time to themselves, and peace, and someplace private, Kisuke would... He didn't know what. But he wanted something special.

/

The next day, Kisuke was dragged away to take care of all sorts of arrangements that needed to be made in order to return to Soul Society. Ichigo, finding himself with suddenly too much free time on his hands, went around Seireitei to say hello to everybody he knew. The first he encountered was Hanatarou, who had stumbled across his path. Ichigo and exchanged a few words with the likable fourth division member, who was much too enthusiastic that Ichigo remembered him.

Next, he dropped by Ukitake's division, hoping that Rukia would be around there. She wasn't, but he got a good chance to chat with the white-haired captain, who seemed to be very happy for the visit. Shunsui also showed up to grin at him and say something like "You and Urahara, who'd have thought? My, my" before trying to drown him in alcohol. Ichigo barely escaped with his balance intact.

A chance meeting with a fuming Mayuri sent him off very quickly in the opposite direction, in which he encountered Kira, Matsumoto and Hisagi. The two men looked very awkward to be around him, checking him out as if he were about to pounce and try to sleep with them at any second, which he wasn't. Matsumoto, on the other hand, seemed to think he was cute.

The eleventh division members tried to offer him a meeting with Zaraki, which he excused himself from on account of having to go see Renji urgently. A complete lie, but if he'd said it, he might as well hold his word.

But Renji was nowhere to be found. Rukia, he heard on his search for the vice-captain, was off with Yoruichi, helping Kiba settle in with the Shihouins. She was apparently giving him pointers about do's and don't's that Rukongai rats could use when joining noble families.

It made sense, but it also meant that he'd just get in the way if he went to see them, so Ichigo went off all on his lonesome up and down the streets some more, until a hell butterfly flew to him and told him that Kisuke would be near the tenth division building in a few minutes, seeing Shichi off, so maybe they could meet there. Ichigo wondered why he hadn't considered sending hell butterflies off to meet friends more easily, but then he remembered that he had no clue how to do it. Seeing as he had nothing better to do, he made his way towards the meeting point.

A small crowd had gathered. Most of the captains, except Mayuri and Soi Fon, were there, as well as the vice-captains, probably as a sign of respect for the Spirit King, or from some sense of duty, or from a justified desire to see her leaving. Ichigo bumped into Yachiru nearly literally and she twittered to him that Shichi had sent off the rest of the Zeroes earlier to search for Aizen and she'd stayed behind to make sure everything was fine with Kisuke and Ichigo, or so the story went. Then the pink haired girl ran off to say something to other people and the young man made his way to the blond, who was luckily with Rukia and Renji, so he didn't have to feel guilty about being with one of them and not the others. Yoruichi and Kiba were also there.

"She comes, she blows up, she leaves," Kisuke muttered.

"Hey, she was actually kind of... you know. Nice," Renji intervened. "A bit brutal, but who's to say that it's a bad thing? I've been in the eleventh division, so I should know."

"My, Abarai-san, some would say that you're quite the brute yourself, considering the way you indulge in others' resources," Kisuke said, cheerfully. "I remember the dent you used to put in my provisions when you were a freeloader..."

"Hey!"

"Now, now, no need to be upset, I didn't say _I_ wouldn't forgive you, but the poor, starving Jinta and Ururu..."

"_Hey_!"

"I-chi-go, you look marvelous today," Kisuke changed the subject. He then suddenly grabbed the redhead and Yoruichi and pulled them both close to him with a grin. "Luckily, Abarai-san, love is enough to support me in these hungry times."

"_HEY!_"

Ichigo chuckled. It was good and comforting to see his older lover start to fool around again, messing with people's minds, not necessarily because it was fun to see their faces (although Renji's was priceless), but because it meant that Kisuke was feeling better. A side glance to Rukia, however, made the laughter wither on his lips. She wasn't amused, but upset by the display. She had looked away, supposedly scanning for Shichi through the crowds to hide her disgruntled disapproval. Ichigo gently removed himself from Kisuke, who didn't mind or notice, since Yoruichi did the same. Renji shook his head.

"Thank you all for the most _welcoming _welcome," Shichi said, somewhere in front. "It's been an utmost _pleasure_ and quite _fun_ to be here." Ichigo wondered if she was stressing the words for emphasis or irony. "It's good to see that Seireitei is as _rational_ as always. Before I leave, there's some things I wanted to say to a number of you." Yoruichi groaned. "Kiba, good luck and have fun in your new clan. Hanatarou, you're a fun little bastard. Matsumoto, your breasts are pouring out. Byakuya, it's been fun sleeping with ya."

That got everybody's attention. A murmur that may or may not have been a sharp intake of breaths and gasps, or simply mouths dropping open noisily, resounded for two seconds before the proceedings grew very, very quiet. Ichigo could just feel the shock, the tension, the question: _Byakuya and her, or all people? _Shichi didn't seem to notice as she went on with her goodbyes to people like Sasakibe and Tetsuzaemon, that Ichigo was sure he should have known.

"I can't believe she said that out loud," Ichigo whispered, looking around for Byakuya. He saw the man standing in a very frozen posture at the side of the crowd. To the casual onlooker, he was just as noble and stoic as ever. To Ichigo, he looked petrified. Renji looked just as bad, turning very, very pale. The younger man supposed that seeing one's hero made a spectacle of would do that. Poor Byakuya, though. This would lead to some gossip and maybe even a stain on his honor.

"Shunsui, Ukitake, what the heck, mates? Get it over with, you know you can and you know what I'm talking about. Hisagi, that tattoo on your face, you should have consulted a linguist first, although now you'll forever be consulting _ling_uists. Heh. Kira, I know nothing about you but your name – heck if I know what to say." The blond breathed out in relief. "Unohana, love the flowers you planted in front of your house. Yachiru, you're not all-knowing. Renji..." She paused. "Renji, you're neat. Love the fire, the passion, but you're unrefined. You could learn a few pointers from Byakuya in terms of elegance and style. And learn to do the damned foreplay properly."

For the second time, the crowd froze, but this time Ichigo joined it.

The silence boomed as loudly as an explosion, drowning whatever shock had been there before. Ichigo barely noticed as Shichi waved a final farewell, his attention focused on Byakuya. Somewhere from the corner of his eye, he saw her disappeared off into non-existence, leaving horror behind her. Byakuya was still.

A silent, frozen hell. Nobody knew what to say or how to react. Renji started trembling lightly. None of them dared to make the first move, all fearing that to do so would mean to break some sort of standstill and bring forth a total chaos.

Who knew how Byakuya would react? Who knew what Renji would do?

The horned captain had been, up until this point, untouchable. Cool as ice. Smooth. Noble. High up on a pedestal.

How was he going to act now? There was no way in which Byakuya could cry out, fight with Renji, sob, or anything of the sort.

All eyes were on him, including Renji's.

Finally, after what seemed like a million years, Byakuya cocked his head sideways elegantly and said, "So. Now it is over." He turned on his heels and left with dignity. He didn't spare a single glance towards his vice-captain, giving off the impression that it hadn't mattered. He walked, further and further, at a normal pace, followed by everybody's gaze, but never once looking out of normal, never once seeming to notice that he was the focus of attention. They stared after him until he disappeared behind a corner.

Ichigo didn't know what others thought, but he knew that this thing that Byakuya had done, this simplicity of acceptance, his quiet dignity, they were the one truly elegant way to escape the situation, to rise above it. Byakuya had gracefully slid over the conflict as if it didn't even affect him. There would be gossip, but he would choose not to accept it. There would be talk, but it would not touch him.

Renji did not have the same advantage.

"Good lords," the redhead said, sliding to his knees. "I am so dead."

And Ichigo got a feeling that most of the audience quite agreed with him.

/

**AN**: Another chapter done. Let me know what you think, because I've planning it for so long that I don't know what to think myself. Is the pacing ok? Are you getting bored with my endless scenes of people discussing? (I'm getting hit by karma due to that in real life. I've had more talks with my bf about us in the past two-three months than I've had in all the rest of our relationship together.)


End file.
